“(…) I received the announcement of morning – the cold faint light that confers a vague whitish blue on the unveiled horizon – like a grateful kiss from creation. Because this light, this true day, freed me – freed me from I don’t know what. It lent a hand to my as-yet-unrevealed old age, it cuddled my false childhood, it helped my overwrought sensibility find the repose it was desperately begging for.
Ah, what a morning this is, awakening me to life’s stupidity, and to its great tenderness! I almost cry when I see the old narrow street come into view down below, and when the shutters of the corner grocers reveal their dirty brown in the slowly growing light, my heart is soothed, as if by a real-life fairy tale, and it begins to find the security of not feeling itself.
What a morning of grief! And what shadows are retreating? What mysteries have taken place? None. There’s just the sound of the first tram, like a match to light up the soul’s darkness, and the loud steps of my first pedestrian, which are concrete reality telling me in a friendly voice not to be this way. (…)”
Fernando Pessoa, in Livro do Desassossego (The Book of Disquiet)
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