An empty house is always dark, even when it’s burning. This situation isn’t unusual for you, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. In Kant’s aesthetics, beauty and terror are immutable qualities, the way a child is born with or without an aptitude for formal logic.  It’s difficult not to think of this inevitability as a kindness.  To say we can watch a wisp of smoke rising from beneath someone else’s door and not feel responsible for that startling numbness at the back of the neck.  There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you, and even if I could, I’m not sure I’d be able to tear myself away from a spectacle.  It’s remarkable, really, how everyone else seems to have taken notes on all of your lectures.  How even the smallest gesture becomes a monument to indecision.