Without darkness there would be no light.
I paint my walls black, I pull down the blinds. Speak to the demons inside my head, but I see no light, I find no light. Maybe there is no light. I never wanted it anyway, I forget why I was looking for it in the first place. I let the darkness gulp me down and I slide down its throat, spreading my palms and my fingers against its silky flesh. I wish I could keep my eyes open and let it crawl in through my pupils and settle against the back of my eye sockets, but I can't. And when I let myself relax, when my eyelids fall, then I see it.
Darkness, light. Like seeing two sides of the same coin at the same time through some twisted trick of fate, it only flickers by an instant but that instant is enough for darkness to cough me back up and I break the surface gasping for air. My blood and bones shiver with fear, having stared into the abyss and let the light shoot up through them, into them. Let us never do that again, they conspire around me, let us let up the blinds and never speak of this again. I do, but I know the story. My blood and my bones both have only patience that lasts until their cells have been exchanged and a new bustling generation perk up at my simple nudge. The old are gone, but I remain. I have the most exciting thing, I tell them, that I want to show you. If you only paint the walls black and pull down the blinds. And off we go again, for me to catch another glimpse of night eternal and get another chance at letting it gauge my eyes out and replace them with its own. For blood and bones to once again be pierced by light and live another generation fearing that which lives beyond darkness. Both asking ourselves the last and vital question;
like that which we fear and seek, would we survive without each other?
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