“You know what’s going to fucking tear you apart?” she confided into the darkness before her, as the agony unveiled from her eyes, “When you realize that the person who sets your soul on fire will never spend their life with you.” Every night, like clockwork, she would face the solitude and silence that would inevitably bring to surface the pain that she wrapped so tightly away with the sun. She lost him, and everything that promised to be the life that she would long for for the rest of her time on this Earth.
And, all because she gave. Or, did she give up? Everything that she was, and everything she was made to be faced the collision of the concreted expectations and the cut and dry life mapped out before her since the day that she was born.
Her existence was a conflict. Everything she ever knew, loved, or stood against held a damning lack of standing in the hell she was roped into. Dreaming became a synthetic pastime. When, to her, it was oxygen. Goals were put into boxes, collecting dust from intruders or fire from brainwash. And, love? Love didn’t exist. Not in the world she was born into, regardless of the truth in her soul.
Because love needed depth, and her mind fought to fly. The dark brought on nightmares with the silence, whether her eyes remained opened or closed. Her greatest demons resided in the shadows, though she couldn’t sleep to the truth that called her, thirsted by the burial of the mundane life that she now knew to be her own.
And so, she learned to survive in the parallel universe that was set before her. During the day, she woke up, showed up, sucked it up, and everything in between. And, the whole time, she fought to stay normal….She never forgot the night: Her blanket in a world of cold.
She loved the memories and the truth and the belonging, but she hated the way that it stabbed her heart and crushed any meaning that she could contribute to. The struggle was unavoidable, and the pull was addictive. Night had to come, and she was fused to the web that wove its strings around her.
When her past haunted her and caught her in the midst of her breakdown…It drove its claws into her constantly, taunting her with the whisperings that she had sold herself to the societal norm that she had loathed with the one that held the power to drive her to the ground. She armed herself against them with a drink in one hand a pen in the other. The darkness would call each night, and she would follow with no regard. The daytime was wrong, in every way…but night was bound to come.
The world could fight to find it’s rightness, but she knew where it laid from the very start. Come into the darkness and feel the beckoning. She waits, and the memories will follow. She can only be loved in the dark…and isn’t that the very best way?