It's a beautiful night, is it not? The sky's veil is a charming hue, a deep, true blue, a magnanimous hue that stirs the soul, one that smiles with tangible generosity. Even today, the stars have peaked out from the blanket of clouds. Look, there now, the snow is melting away. The distant buildings are decrepit and battered from long years of war with the weather, yet the sky seems so forgiving tonight. There is no need to worry, not at all. The night may be cold but your soul is warm…there's an inextinguishable fire burning in your chest, a fire filled with a youthful ardor and a twinkle in your eye! Are you not convinced? Look around, dear reader, tonight the sky has regained its innocence, left its despondency in yesterday's storm. Today, tonight, it has found peace among the sting of a frigid atmosphere, settled between the silhouette of dejected buildings. The night is clear, dear reader! You appear still, very much uncertain. Let me tell you, that maybe it's true that we are not so young anymore…but all is good and well, we shall continue to kindle the fire that rises from our chests. Though now it may not burn with the vehement passion of youth, it has no doubt composed itself into a steady cadence, gracefully and judiciously aware of the wind's gentle prodding. Yes, the breeze shall not overcome us, it shall move us with great speed, take our hands, and dance with us. Under such a sky, there is no trace of resentment, of embitterment, of all desolation, no, the night is so pure. Dear reader, under such a sky, everything is alright. You feel it too, yes? There's a serene tranquility in the air, as though the world has silenced its murmurs. It really feels like time is standing still. As though we exist in a cusp in the timeline of life, where temporarily, momentarily, things have come to a stop. Breath with me, my friend. There is no rush to sunrise now. The light may illuminate the land, where one can see bright and clear, the world in its rigid, detailed form. But is it not so comforting to indulge in the night as well? To feel your heart leaping into the unknown, into not darkness but a boundless sea, where one need not worry about seeing the world in its detailed form. It is but a vague, and grand, and shapeless stretch of possibilities reaching out into the endless horizon. One need not worry about anything, about where to go, what to do, or who one must be. We are now strangers to the world we grasp so fervently, but my dear reader, that is how we know we're free. Yet, even in this freedom, we are not exempt to the weight of our humanity. There is, too, a bitter comfort in feeling so deeply and undeniably human. Some days, the wind is unrelenting, and one can't help but shiver, feeling the acute ache of the cold slowly gnawing away at one's skin. It is painful, assuredly, though doesn't one feel glad to have been able to feel as vividly and as keenly as one does? Shall we not credit our human condition, to have the freedom to live, and laugh, and cry, and yell? Surely life would feel flat and insipid without a little bit of adversity, is that right? Ah, but nevermind that now. My friend, I see the color suffusing your cheeks, and a bashful smile tugging the corner of your lips! It suits you well, truly; you should wear that smile more often. Oh, there now, do you see? A hint of color in the sky so dark. The new day's sun emerges now, like a phoenix reborn to the world. The clocks tick on, imperceptibly slow, yet regretfully fast. Inevitably we must move forth, we must move on. Why so apprehensive? You have nothing to fear, for you are ready; have faith, I know it so. You are warmer already, not from the fire of the sun, but from your own enlivened flame! Though we have known each other for only the night, and I have not seen your face in full, you are no stranger to me, but a beloved friend. I am incredibly proud of you, and I wish that you faithfully keep walking, on the path lit by the light, while finding respite by youthful nights. Please go on, even if you know not where your path leads, nor where it may end, you must go on. We shall depart now, my friend, as the new day has knocked upon our doors and we must rise to answer the call. The night so pure has gone away, and we shall not pursue it for the chance that it will be sullied under our touch. Maybe it shall snow tomorrow, the night plunging into its prosaic despondencies once again. But please remember, dear friend, with all your heart, as full as it is already, please do not forget– that there will certainly, be more nights like these, where we are invigorated by the frosty air, and the wrinkles of the heavens disappear with a tender sigh.