Light is a funny thing. Many things are funny things, but light is special. Few things can grow without light of some kind. I came to realize that the heart is no different. I started to feel like mine was slowly wilting away, rotting into my chest from lack of light, trapped in a kind of darkness that I couldn’t understand. Somehow the blinds were pulled or someone blocked up the windows permanently with bricks, the way they do to the buildings in the not so nice parts of town: the ones that used to be nice buildings with nice people living in them until something goes wrong and everyone leaves and the building gets turned into a warehouse or sweatshop or slum.
Maybe my heart isn’t my heart any more but an empty building and my body is a city and everyone has left to the suburbs so there isn’t anyone in the building any more. There just isn’t anyone to turn on the lights–if any of them still work.
Some cities get more tourism than others and if people are cities then I am one of those that is in a random place that is not worth visiting. Maybe it is one of the northern cities that have winters where they go whole days and weeks with no sun at all. Maybe I am simply in the midst of an extraordinarily long winter.
If I am just in winter, then it’s possible that not everything is gone. Maybe everything is just dormant, asleep. Not everything dies when the seasons change; many plants just shrink up under winter snow and when the sun finally comes back, the snow melts and they start growing again.
Spring will come, and there will be light again.