||
The constant darkness
began to absorb her, at first. It wasn't just behind her eyes; it was seeping
into her pores. The darkness was eating her so that there was less of her than
when she had begun. The saturation of darkness meant the absence of Maia.
Down by the lake
she’d find delicate fish bones or pieces of driftwood with her fingers and
imagine them sun-bleached and refined by the water. She would wish in desperate
moments to shrivel there, to lend her bones to this landscape and be bleached
and refined. Because that’s what light felt like – smooth.
The darkness was clumsy,
was rough around the edges.
||
Everyone knew light.
Everyone was created for and into the light. The light was certain and
straightforward.
We are shaped by it and
pattern our lives after it, our waking and sleeping and eating.
There was no rhythm to
darkness. It was tumbling and fumbling and graceless.
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