Things we wish would fade quickly often take longer, mostly because we are accustomed to staring straight at them. They fade, but we are watching them disappear pixel by pixel.
Someone told me averted vision opens your eyes to the things you cannot see when you stare into the brightness of something. But it's the same with darkness. Staring at your hand in campsite blackness, simply because you can feel it pressing against the air, does not make it easier to see. Sometimes you have to look at the dim glimmers of light in the water, the bioluminescence of the soft creatures, edgeless beneath the ebbing waves. When your pupils open to let in these shreds of light, you can catch your thumb waggling in the darkness, a sign of life amidst the black.
Sometimes we must look away in order to see what is in front of us.
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