… but am afraid of what’s in it
Darkness has always been an old friend, spine-chilling and endless, but, a friend nevertheless. Maybe, because it also holds melancholy well; and without darkness we really would not appreciate the light. Yet, it holds mysteries and fears that we put in our cupboards when we were younger, that we decorated our hiding places with so that we won’t face them.
It becomes more apparent when we face a lonely night reading a novel and we push the lights off. The sounds and creaking amplify in the dark and you imagine that someone is holding out their hands just to grab you and pull you downwards. You try to persevere but, once the fear is in your mind it grows in bounds and leaps. Soon enough the small sound becomes the footsteps of a friend you lost the year before and the creaking the hands opening the door. You try to push in your earphones and listen in all hopes of deterring your fears but, it doesn’t go.
You are a slave of darkness now, and the darkness condemns you