Language is courage: the ability to conceive a thought, to speak it, and by doing so to make it true.
How strange it is. We have these deep terrible lingering fears about ourselves and the people we love. Yet we walk around, talk to people, eat and drink. We manage to function. The feelings are deep and real. Shouldn’t they paralyze us? How is it we can survive them, at least for a little while? We drive a car, we teach a class. How is it no one sees how deeply afraid we were, last night, this morning? Is it something we all hide from each other, by mutual consent? Or do we share the same secret without knowing it? Wear the same disguise?
It was a beautiful night…
The moon was out of orbit.
The stars were awry.
But everything else was exactly
as it should have been.