The Long Night

by Juan Pablo Pina

The sun has set, maybe for the last time. And I do not know if I shall see the dawn, for the Long Night has come.

It comes with fingers, claws, and lances of frost—horns, ears, and eyes of snow. 

The Long Night wipes away stories. Wipes away songs, places, and people. Nothing but fish in a wave.

The Long Night is dark and full of terrors. But maybe there's a kindness in it.

Maybe the blackness is just its twisted heart. Its endless snow a meal offered out of hospitality. Its paralyzing silence is its own fireside song.

Because if the Long Night wishes to take me, why not do it softly?

The Long Night will find you eventually in sleepless evenings or skinking feelings. You may stave it off with memory and song, or you may get lost in its quiet embrace.

Either way, the Long Night will put you to sleep, too. Maybe offer you a last dinner. Then it will take what is its by right, and move on.

We all face the Long Night, eventually. On the field of battle, be it with guns and bombs or in our hearts and minds. Or when creeping pestilence or old age finally takes its toll.

Either way, welcome to the Long Night, friend. I'd suggest getting comfortable. Looks like we'll be here a long time. Maybe forever.