This morning I woke up and found myself in a bright and sunny room, just like I had always wanted, but not quite. The walls were lined with my pretty books, and movie posters and teacups and other things, but they did not mask the emptiness and only made it more ostensible. They did not feel like they were mine, too, and instead felt like they belonged to another person from another time. That person I felt I have now forever lost, along with people and things she has now forever lost, and all these made the brightness of the room glaring and violent and utterly sad.
[There's a certain slant of light] by Emily Dickinson
There's a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like the weight
Of cathedral tunes.
Heavenly hurt it gives us;
We can find no scar,
But internal difference
Where the meanings are.
None may teach it anything,
'Tis the seal, despair,-
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air.
When it comes, the landscape listens,
Shadows hold their breath;
When it goes, 't is like the distance
On the look of death.
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