Maybe the light wasn't the best thing possible.
Maybe I had never wanted to see the light.
Because when it came, all I saw was the damage they'd done.
The bodies lying on the battle ground, crimson blood as evidence of humanity sneering at us.
The guns all out of bullets, because we all thought we'd been slapped for the wrong reasons.
The broken pieces of glass lying upon the shores, their edges worn out, tired of being tossed around by the currents that danced in the oceans.
The photographs burnt, because an old fellow once thought memories held no meaning anymore.
The empty stage we once dreamt of getting up on to sing. With nothing but imaginary echoes of sweet voices belonging to what they called angels.
Maybe the light was what I never wanted to see. Because it showed me things I didn't want to know about.
But maybe, it also showed me that old luggage I'd carry around, always supposedly saying its my heart.
And so I walked on, away from the crime scene, away from the broken memories, with my luggage.
Because it held the one thing they could never take away from me, or put a baggage tag on.
It held the last bit of love the remaining lost souls lived for.