Dear Loco,

When I was 13 or 14 or 15 or 16 I read Eli Wiesel’s Night. Sometime after that I read Man’s Search for Meaning.

I could not understand how you come out on the other side of the smell of burning flesh, and how you manage to preserve yourself in all of that.

I wondered and wondered if I had the mettle it takes.

As all these little lights go out in my life and the deep despair of inky black night settles in, I pray for safety. Because the light casts shadows and offers no consistency. But the dark expands for lightyears and envelops you. And don’t we all just want to be held in that way?