Adrift alone, your hope not bright nor dark, you pull inside those fears and stand up straight to face the day. You walk with gravel buried in your heart, numb and used to damage as the world; you live and you will go. You face the sun and at once it floods upon you, rinsing out the ash: a rain of warm gold leaving you clear as crystal and light. Not a strand of hope, but a blanket more solid than hope can weave. Not pushing back the darkness, but crumbling it before you.