I'm Sorry Today in class someone shared some very personal writing that clenched my toes and socked my gut. It was the kind of thing that you cannot really respond to, if you don't know the person well enough to give him a hug. So I thought I'd post a poem here instead.

It's by Emily Dickinson, who was also awkward and sad.

We grow accustomed to the Dark--
When Light is put away--
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye--

A Moment--We uncertain step
For newness of the night--
Then--fit our Vision to the Dark--
And meet the Road--erect--

And so of larger--Darknesses--
Those Evenings of the Brain--
When not a Moon disclose a sign--
Or Star--come out--within--

The Bravest--grope a little--
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead--
But as they learn to see--

Either the Darkness alters--
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight--
And Life steps almost straight.  ¶ 5:17 PM