Passing Through the Pupil

A couple of nights ago, my husband started listing off different titles to see if I knew of any good ones to read. There were a couple I recognized and then he said, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous.

That title made me stop a moment.

He decided to read that one. It sounded intriguing.

Last night:
"Listen to this, you would love this book."
I was so tired when he started reading to me, but then my ears perked up, and I heard what he was saying a bit clearer.

"Wait, wait go back."

He began again, "You once told me that the human eye is god's loneliest creation."
He continued, and I listened.

“[You once told me that the human eye is god's loneliest creation.] How so much of the world passes through the pupil and still it holds nothing. The eye, alone in its socket, doesn't even know there's another one, just like it, an inch away, just as hungry, as empty.” ― Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous

I listened and started to type some of what he was saying so I wouldn't forget it. I had him read it to me about four times because, as I listened, I had a hard time not feeling blown away by its depth. The truth I felt in listening to the words. The responsibility I felt in hearing them and interpreting them in a way that only a receiver of words can.

I haven't read the book. I don't know all the parts and pieces or even its purpose. The few sentences I have encountered though have me thinking. They mostly have me thinking about what I let sift through my life and what I hold onto.