Light & Dark

Like the irony of trust, there are two sides to the same page. One born of water, the other refined by fire. Love & fear, a cartoonist publisher said.

I find safety in dark attics, just a lamp guiding my fingers running amok on the keyboard. Safe, for no one can see the face drenched with tears and embarrassing rashes forming across the cheeks. No one can see the wet pillow, yellow with stains of anxiety. Under the sheets, where hands and feet are tied, secure and hidden. I turn out the lights so no one can see my footprints and the bruises and burn marks from the rope too tight. I hide my scar against the camouflage of the shroud, a silent shadow cowering over and my embrace and affection running deep.

I still cannot stop. The night is still and empty and I don't want to lose it to the wearing out of time. I struggle to find my feet and head a place to rest, to really rest, safe from the empty lies of this world. I try to swim ashore from this sea of a widow's pain. The tide is still too strong and my body is still too weak.

When there is nothing to be afraid of, you can move and find your way instinctively in the dark. What is happening to me?