I don't know what your world is like. I see you, using your guiding stick, sauntering through campus. You have to feel where you are going. I'm not sure what that is like, not being able to see color or people or trees. All is know is that I find myself looking at this little world around me with wonder and awe; then you pass by, and teach me that this is a privilege. I remember blindfolding myself for games, growing up, and the sudden consuming black I'd face was a bit dreadful. Not dreadful for long though, because I knew the curtain would be lifted and I'd see my smiling friends again. But you were probably born with this blindfold on, and you're not able to take off. You have never been able to see the splendor of the stars or grandeur of a sunset, let alone your mama's face. I bet your imagination is well developed by now, putting faces to the voices you hear and colors to the texture you feel. I don't know what that is like. I always had a choice to develop my imagination, life did not force me to. It was something I developed for fun, not something I relied on to get me through the day. I do not know why God bestowed this healthy sight upon me, while you had to suffer throughout your life. I do know that the brief encounters between us, that you are unaware of, bear a heavy weight upon me. Your condition convicts me, it convicts me of my complacency and ungratefulness. I have you to thank for that, brave stranger. You possess much valor in my eyes.