There is beauty in light, the way it trips and falls, filtering through a canopy of trees. In the same breath I own to entertaining a perverse fascination with the thrill of darkness. Heavy and utterly foreign—I suppose on the surface I wanted to pit the light of my soul against the darkness of the world. But I was proud, and foolish…and most like a little in denial of its musky allure: I believed I could face and overcome it, but I now find myself nearly overrun. Would that these days were not mine; that I had never wished to face darkness—wishing may make a fool of me.
Of course this is located in my "works in process" section.
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