At first, it is completely dark. No inkling of lights, no stars, no whispers of salvation. You keep going, not knowing where the going is heading. Sometimes you are certain you are walking in circles. You attempt to sit still but the road itself seems to move beneath you.
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A tiny flicker. It does not last long. It comes in the hands of a friend, in the music of a song, in the words on a page. It is fleeting. Sometimes you can focus on the small light. Other times, you see only the long shadows that it creates.
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The lights multiply. A small constellation of fleeting stars. They cover the shadows with more light, create a mottled pattern on the wall. You see the wall.
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One or two lights grow brighter, last a little longer. They create ripple patterns through the leaded windows. You see the windows.
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A small flame flickers. For a moment, it appears to dance. Then it wavers against the rushing wind before it goes out. You feel the wind. Someone must have opened the window.
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The room is dark. The lights are gone and they will not come back. You squeeze your eyes and see the mottled wall in your memory. You remember that there is a window. You walk blindly to the wall and feel your way to the memory. The window is closed.
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You open the window. Phantom lights appear, like sprites on water. You breathe deeply and cry because you didn’t know if they would return.
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It is dark. You sit. You breathe. You wait.
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It is dark. You breathe.
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A small light. You watch it, study it. When it goes, you keep breathing.
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It is dark. You open your hand. From it, a small flame grows stronger. You smile.
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It is dark. You smile. You wait. You breathe.
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A million stars appear. The walls are gone; the wind cools your neck. You sit. You wait.
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A small light flickers. You watch the shadows.
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You sit. You breathe. You are.