All the Colors of the Dark

by Chris Whitaker

Saint wanted to ask what it was like, to lose the thing that defined you. But perhaps she knew: it left you someone else. A stranger you had no choice but to tolerate, and see each day and feel and fear.

At ten years old he realized that people were born whole, and that the bad things peeled layers from the person you once were, thinning compassion and empathy and the ability to construct a future. At thirteen he knew those layers could sometimes be rebuilt when people loved you. When you loved.

And I wonder what exactly a mistake is. A thing we should not have done, right? But if learning is built on trial and error there can be no mistakes, only rungs on a ladder to someplace better.”

Giving a man a badge and gun doesn’t mean you’ve given him the moral code to use either correctly. Masks, Saint. A suit and tie. A lab coat and scrubs. They’re just dressing.”

“You don’t cry because it’s over, you smile that it happened,”

To love and be loved was more than could ever be expected, more than enough for a thousand ordinary lifetimes.