when I saw Glass in a theatre, I cried in a way I hadn’t let myself do in a long time. I walked out of the theatre after all the credits passed, with tear stains on my shirt and bloodshot eyes, and just walked around at night with the latest James Blake album in my ears. I went to a restaurant, ordered a pizza and sat there for a while, thinking about every image in the climax, trying to stop myself from crying in public. but I couldn’t. I let it all out in that overlit booth and for a few minutes, I felt comfortable being broken. it felt okay to breathe, to cry, to feel. I didn’t have to pretend anymore. it’s been two years and my life has gotten harder. I fell in love, lost her forever to the disease that has wrecked the world in the last year, and have recently fallen in love with someone else. when I watched this film, I felt like I was processing all the goodbyes and conflicts and the pain that I’ve been forced to reconcile with. it made me feel like it’s okay to live, to push forward, to allow myself to love with my whole heart even though I know that there’s no escaping pain. when I left that theatre, I let myself cry again. let myself say goodbye. put on that James Blake album I hadn’t heard in what felt like a lifetime. the power of M Night is that he helps me see myself, even though his films are bleak and acknowledge the realities of death more starkly than any other contemporary filmmaker, he focuses on clinging onto the people you have, the connections that make your heart pound and your eyes well. you cling onto the hands of the people you love, remember the ones you’ve lost, and live for both of them. I’m grateful to be alive, to be in love, to have my grief.