think

so very delicate, so fragile, this white light we all are given. so easy to obscure it, to deny it, so easily snuffed out. how much harder it is, to let it show through. how much more difficult, to burn ourselves upon it, to be consumed in its rapturous brilliance. and how hard to make it shine once more, once it is dimmed and hidden away. so many moths beating their heavy wings in desperate pleading to regain admittance to that glow, so many men staring into the sun to find that which is so long lost.