I really believe that all of us have a lot of darkness in our

Host: The diner sat on the edge of the highway, wrapped in a thin fog that drifted in from the woods. A flickering neon sign hummed above the entrance — Open 24 Hours, though it looked half asleep. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of coffee, fried eggs, and a faint trace of loneliness.

Jack sat in the back booth, his hands clasped, his grey eyes fixed on the steam rising from his cup. Jeeny sat across from him, her elbows on the table, tracing patterns on the condensation of her glass. The rain outside whispered against the window like a secret too tired to confess.

It was just past midnight — the hour when people speak truths they wouldn’t dare say in daylight.

Jeeny: “Kevin Bacon once said, ‘I really believe that all of us have a lot of darkness in our souls. Anger, rage, fear, sadness. I don’t think that’s only reserved for people who had horrible upbringings. It’s part of the human condition.’”

Host: Jack nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. The fluorescent light above their booth buzzed faintly, washing his face in pale yellow.

Jack: “He’s right. Darkness isn’t something we escape. It’s something we inherit. You can dress it up in success or bury it under routine, but it’s still there — waiting.”

Jeeny: “I don’t see it as something to fear. I think it’s something to understand. You can’t heal what you refuse to look at.”

Jack: “That’s easy to say. But you look too long into it, and it looks back. You think you’re studying your pain, but it starts studying you.”

Host: A truck thundered past outside, its headlights cutting through the fog, scattering it into brief light. The moment passed, but the tension stayed.

Jeeny: “So what, Jack? We’re supposed to pretend we don’t have anger, fear, or sadness? Pretend we’re fine while it rots inside?”

Jack: “No. But we don’t need to glorify it either. This obsession with ‘embracing your darkness’ — it’s romantic until someone loses control. Look at the world. Wars, violence, hatred — that’s all people ‘embracing’ their darkness without knowing how to contain it.”

Jeeny: “Containment isn’t healing. It’s suppression. And suppressed darkness doesn’t die — it festers. You know that.”

Host: Jack’s fingers drummed against the tabletop, slow, restless beats. His eyes drifted to the window, where the rain had turned into a slow, relentless drizzle.

Jack: “You ever think that some people don’t have the luxury of healing? Some of us just learn to function — not fix.”

Jeeny: “That’s not functioning. That’s surviving. There’s a difference.”

Jack: “And what’s wrong with surviving? It’s what every species does. You think wolves go to therapy after losing a hunt?”

Jeeny: “Wolves don’t build bombs or break hearts out of fear, Jack. Humans do. Because we have souls deep enough to drown in. That’s why facing the darkness matters — so it doesn’t run the show from underground.”

Host: Her voice softened, but her eyes stayed fierce. Jack sighed, running a hand through his hair, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of years pressed invisible hands upon him.

Jack: “You talk about it like it’s some noble pilgrimage — like looking into your pain makes you pure.”

Jeeny: “Not pure. Just aware. That’s all. The difference between a man who knows his darkness and one who denies it is like the difference between a candle and a wildfire.”

Host: The silence that followed was thick — the kind that fills the lungs and makes breathing feel like confession.

Jack: “You know, I grew up thinking anger was poison. My father — he’d say, ‘Keep it down, son. Don’t let it show.’ So I learned to hide it. And the more I hid, the heavier it got. Until one day it didn’t fit inside anymore.”

Jeeny: “What happened?”

Jack: “I started snapping at people I cared about. Couldn’t stand noise, laughter, even kindness. It felt like they were mocking me for something I couldn’t name. Took me years to realize I wasn’t angry at them — I was angry at myself. For pretending I was fine.”

Host: Jeeny reached across the table, her fingers brushing his knuckles — not to comfort, but to anchor him in the present.

Jeeny: “That’s what I mean, Jack. You didn’t lose control because you felt anger. You lost control because you denied it. You tried to bury a volcano.”

Jack: “So what’s your solution? Dig it up and let it explode?”

Jeeny: “No. You sit with it. You listen. Darkness isn’t a monster — it’s a message. Anger tells you where you’ve been wronged. Fear tells you where you’ve forgotten your power. Sadness tells you what you’ve loved and lost.”

Jack: “And rage?”

Jeeny: “Rage tells you you’re still alive.”

Host: A small laugh escaped Jack — dry, hollow, but real. It drifted between them like the first hint of warmth in a long winter.

Jack: “You talk like you’ve made peace with all of it.”

Jeeny: “No. I just stopped pretending it wasn’t there. Every day it knocks, and I say, ‘I see you. But you don’t get to drive today.’ That’s all we can do — acknowledge the dark, but choose the light.”

Host: The waitress passed by, refilling their cups without a word. The sound of pouring coffee filled the space — soft, almost sacred.

Jack: “You make it sound so simple.”

Jeeny: “It’s not simple. It’s daily war. Between who you are and who you want to be.”

Host: He looked at her for a long moment, the steam rising between them like the spirit of something unspoken.

Jack: “You think everyone has this darkness? Even people who had easy lives?”

Jeeny: “Especially them. Darkness isn’t punishment — it’s inheritance. We’re all built from the same materials: love and loss, hope and fear. Some just hide their shadows behind better lighting.”

Jack: “Then maybe we’re all hypocrites — walking around pretending to be whole while hiding the cracks.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But the cracks let the light out too.”

Host: A faint smile played on Jack’s lips. He leaned back, letting the chair creak, eyes drifting toward the rain-streaked window.

Jack: “You know… sometimes I wonder if we ever stop fighting it. The anger, the fear, the sadness. Maybe they’re not visitors — maybe they’re roommates.”

Jeeny: “Then learn to live with them. Don’t evict what you can transform.”

Host: Her words lingered — tender, heavy, true. Outside, the fog began to lift, revealing the faint outline of the road, slick and shimmering under the distant streetlights.

Jack: “Maybe Bacon was right. Maybe darkness isn’t the problem. Maybe it’s the denial of it that ruins us.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The ones who admit their shadows are the only ones who can walk in light without fear of what follows them.”

Host: The camera would have pulled slowly away — the neon sign flickering above the diner, the two of them silhouettes behind the foggy glass, cups steaming like offerings to the night.

Inside that small booth, between the rain and the hum of lights, two souls sat — not in confession, not in despair — but in the quiet, fragile understanding that darkness is not the enemy.

It’s the mirror that keeps us human.