Present and Dark are Synonyms Now

I think I’ve been afraid of the dark ever since I left.
When I walked out into the arms of an unfaithful light, I was yet to discover its disloyalty. And when I did, I watched the dark settle in like the burning sensation of a bloody wound. I let it push me off the edge of my understanding until I was hanging on to a brittle branch of blame. I could feel the vagabond vengeance surfacing at the tip of my tongue.
Sometimes, I still think of what it would have been like if someone would have flung me over instead of pulling me back.
Would I, then, have realised the sore reality of how I differentiated my life into bits of light and dark, black and white?
Would I, then, have confronted my senses about their functioning?
Probably not.
Regardless, the cognizance pursued me.
It took more than just coherent comprehension and mindless courage to seek and strip to the nakedness of how my black was always the present and everything else beamed dazzles from afar. I was still afraid of the dark; the only persistent difference lay in the fact that instead of judging, I’d simply close my eyes in response.


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