In this year, a year belonging wholly to itself… which is to say, a year unlike any other, in the manner in which no year is like any other.
In this year, when the sky fell and we wept for the hole that it left; not only in the sky, but in our hearts.
In this year, when so much was taken, both from within and from without.
In this year, that we have numbered, as we do all others, so as to give it a place in the procession of time.
In this year, of sorrow and discontent, in this assembly of months so fleeting and so endless.
In this year, of truth in which we could no longer hide from hideous reason.
In this year, where we sought and still are seeking some meaning that still eludes us.
We must resolve to keep on seeking, as the thirsty seek for water.
We must hunger for the sustenance that we have not yet found.
We must hope, if only for a moment, in order to let that light in.
That trembling flame, so easily extinguished by the darkness that surrounds us.
We must cherish that light, which has burned in us for all eternity.
A brightness unexpected and absurd when compared against the vastness of the dark.
Let us endure and confess that light, despite the winds that might disturb it.
So that others might see and recognise that it yet burns inside them, also.
And together, a thousand lights, a million, might shine bright enough.
To show the way out of the darkness, not just for one, but for all.