The Sun rose softly today, careful not to wake me. When I first opened my eyes, just passed noon, the candle I had lit beside my bed, far before sleep, during the hours of the last light was still burning. By the second time, it was out. I took that as a sign to get out of bed, I had outlasted the life of the candle and that made me feel some sort of way about myself, but I saw no use in pursuing that feeling.

I didn’t do much with my day. I attempted to make the best use of the fate of the day. The Sun was not alone in the sky. It was joined by regions of white cloud upon a field of warm blue. The kind of sky you could lose yourself within the infiniteness of; following through the layers of the heavens until you arrive at a point beyond yourself. I stared upon that endless sky as I pushed myself through the world to do something with my day.

It started into the early evening as I went to the gym. I’ve always found refreshment in having an objective measurement of my life’s progress. The shortcomings and the plateaus of effort are so evident in my abilities in the gym. I find comfort in something being so straightforward; not many things are. Many things have convolutions and nuances that at points, make them a bother to discuss. Still, there are some that I have found enjoy the dive into the infinite; the nuance of discussion over the state and progress of things, hoping that we may come to a point beyond all nuance. The sky is more kind thought.

Concluding my workout I had my slow, incomplacent to any rushes of life, walk home. Averting my eyes from all distractions and resting purely in the company of the setting Sun and the sad but hopeful folk music that played into my ears, I walked upon campus ways and sidewalks back to my wooden apartment: the place I had made a sanctuary for whatever fates the days may bring.

Changing out of my gym clothes, and into an artistic aesthetic, one that in my younger years I would insult, I went out into the streets of the city to meet a friend. I arrived early and had a smoke around the corner of our destination; a dimly lit Italian restaurant not so much different, but maybe less “white table cloth” than the very one I work at not too far away. I don’t smoke, and I wonder how far into routine smoking could go while I still make this claim. But today, and at this hour, the last light seemed to cast a warming glow upon any vices I may be developing.

My friend arrived and we went into the restaurant, observing the wine list and deciding on the mood we were in. A full-bodied red or a crisp white. A fruity or supple pallet. We settled on a reasonably priced red: which could have been belonging to any category (It doesn’t concern me now that it has been drank). And so we drank. And we ate. And we talked about whatever we were lead to, and as the Sun vanished so did the volume of the bottle and the sweet bitter blood that we drank and we started to discuss many a sad things: Those in my life who have died, those who are dying. The inevitability of it all and the curses of fate and injustices and unfair rulings of entire families.

We spoke about our recent endeavors, passions of ours, short-sighted future plans, and results of past pursuits. After longs hours, not any longer than any other but containing much more than most, we left, now joined by my friend’s girlfriend, and we made our way to a different bar.

Here we took our turns playing 8 ball and requesting songs. Conflicting to set the mood of the night and attempting to romanticize the moment for each of us, I’m sure our request eventually reached a homeostasis in which we were all satisfied; and so, the conflict was removed and in that time we shared music with one another thus sharing the moods of our lives.

We remained until the closing of both our turns of song, and the bar, to which we crossed an empty main street into a new tavern, of which an acquaintance of mine worked. I made my greetings and ordered drinks and we sat and we talked about memories and funny stories. We played darts after a time of awaiting an opening board, but most importantly we drank.

Another plot of conversation came and went, and with it the setting. Upon the closing of the tavern we made our way through the back door, into a space tucked into the city. Here the night began.

The night began the way many a great people before would have called a night. We sat and we smoked. I do not smoke. And a pack had gone, and our discussion continued. Flowing in the way one should, we talked about many things. Many the same that many a great people before have discussed. We talked about the manner of life, the nature of God, the biases of man, the thoughts of suicide, the values of humans, and the values of beasts. We uncovered the frameworks of each other’s perceptions, and in it I hope we gained a great deal.

Seneca, in his “Letters from a Stoic”, said that a true friend is one you speak with as openly as you do yourself. I have been pursuing this since I first read these words years ago. Perhaps this could find me witness.

The Sun had far gone from me. Its warmth did not touch me. I saw no glimmer and yet I felt it’s Last Light; that warmth before the end, the final glimpse. The decision before death in which all is decided. I hope to keep that light within me, even before the Black Bun.

I write this at the conclusion of my night. I hear the birds calling to the Sun and Im certain the candle I have lit now will long outlast my sleep. With commitments that come with the First Light, I sacrifice my next-day’s energy to write. This is my lifeline and it would be of great sadness to me were I to lose what I found tonight. Certainly, it is worth confronting the First, the Last, and the Black Sun.

In confidence of the goodness of the world and pressing no further question,

Taylor Matthew Wilson.