into thin air

"i lay naked across the bed and listened to the sounds of the night drift through the open window. the jingle of ricksha bells blended with car horns, the come-ons of street peddlers, a woman's laughter, music from a nearby bar. flat on my back, too high to move, i closed my eyes and let the glutinous premonsoon heat cover me like a balm; i felt as though i were melting into the mattress. a procession of intricately etched pinwheels and big-nosed cartoon figures floated across the back of my eyelids in neon hues.
as i turned my head to the side, my ear brushed against a wet spot;tears, i realized, were running down my face and soaking the sheets. i felt a gurgling, swelling bubble of hurt and shame roll up my spine from somewhere deep inside. erupting out of my nose and mouth in a flood of snot, the first sob was followed by another, then another and another"

-excerpt from jon krakauer's into thin air, an account on survivors guilt after the 1996 Everest disaster. the book severely disturbed me, and in doing so secured a position as one of the best non-fiction pieces i've ever read.