"Though i am both seer and seen, i see nothing."
She paused before adding, "And you?... You are no different."

Yet i couldn't help but wonder if, being left with nothing, would i now see any the more clearly?

One night, upon seeing that i could barely keep my eyes open any longer, she, quite matter-of-factly: "I never weary."

One morning, while i was watching the sun rise, the light turned and said, "I even illuminate the sun, yet none illumine me."

"I am here," she said, trying to console me. "Always here."

Wherever that might be.

"I have no enemies," said the light.

Sometimes i wish she did.

We helpless as the light.

"You often refer to 'your life' when it is neither your's nor life, but rather me alone."

At times like these her narcissism appeared to have no bounds, but what if she was merely stating the facts?

The light revealed the true depth of our frailty 

simply by trembling unnoticed.

I avoided celebrating my birthday, which only met with her approval. "There's no use in blowing out any candles," she said, "you can't extinguish me anyway."

The light had her tender moments too. Overhearing that a friend was devastated by a personal loss, she gently whispered, "Just try to remember that I am reflected in your tears as well."

"I know myself through you," she confessed.

Seemingly she was untroubled by the consequences.

It was easy to confuse her with the silence, but she did not sing.

Mornings too, she tended to intrude.

Bent over the sink splashing my face with cold water, i glanced at myself in the mirror.

She, with just a hint of vanity: "Though i may be reflected i have no reflection."

"You seem to think that i only am where i shine, yet i shine brightest where i am not."

Unable to sleep, i lay in the dark staring out the window waiting for the first light of dawn to appear. Seeing me there, she couldn't help herself, "'First light'," she quipped. "As if there ever was or ever will be any other but me."

Walking down the hallway I noticed light streaming from under a door. In my persistent quest for origins i turned the knob and quietly entered, only to discover that the room was utterly empty.

Such was her way: to beckon and abandon.

One day, we passed a sign on which was written: "Divine Mercy".

"'Divine'?!?" she scoffed. "As long as you think in such crude terms any heaven will be your hell. Where is the mercy in that?"

Disaster struck, but not for her—she always remained as placid as could be.

Seeing a pool of light i was never sure if it was an invitation to bathe, frolic or drown.

"If you listen closely enough," she assured me, "you will discover that I am in all that you hear as well."

Sadly, i am as deaf as i am blind.

"Too often you mistake my radiance for me," she admonished, unable to hide her disappointment. "Are others nothing more than their breath to you?"

I was left with the impression that she would remain an iconoclast long after the last saint had fallen.

"You do not see — i reveal."

Yet apparently she is her sole revelation.

"Like your shadow, one day i will overwhelm you."

Such were the promises she made.

One night, having already slipped under the sheets and turned out my lamp, i heard her voice whispering in the dark: "Perhaps it is in sleep when you are closest to me."

I rolled over on my side and went to shut my eyes, but i was no longer able to tell if they were closed or open.

Seeing me pondering some old photographs, she muttered seemingly to herself, "Fools... Thinking they could ever capture me."

Later, after she had departed, in the vain hope of proving her wrong, i returned to see if there might be but one photo that could illuminate the darkness.

I sat there fumbling through them for hours, unable to find even a single shadow.