For me, whose heart is heavy with the grief of life's struggles, the dusk comes as a mournful solace. With night so near, I feel like someone on the brink of freedom, ready to start life all over again. No one, no one in the world has any right to weep for me. For, truly, at dusk I feel ready to start life all over again. It is as if the great rush of daytime's anguished tumult washes me clean, empties me of hope, and, gazing up at the dark sky spangled with its signs and stars--as if I am seeing the night sky for the first time, the first--I lay my heart open to the benign indifference of the universe.
It is said that the day-night reversal, with its relieving sense of freedom from demand, is characteristic for people who feel detached from, or oppressed by, the world around them. It provides a kind of nonconforming rebellious and private limbo, a private world.
To feel the night so like myself, indeed, so brotherly, makes me realize that I have been happy, and that I am happy still. For all to be accomplished, for me to feel less lonely, all that remains to hope is that on the day of my death, whenever that day might come, there should be one mourner who might remember me, who might carry my memory into the future for at least a brief time.
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