Pitch White

Dark. In the dark. I love the dark, it leaves me in peace. It embraces me, It comforts without saying a word. It envelops me whole. It asks no questions, it tells no secrets, it asks for nothing more than your company. The dark is God's gift to the cowards. The dark is a place to hide your shame, your fear, your regrets. Funny though, how easily one can vanquish the dark. The dark, which instills fear into all its beholders, even grown men cower in the dark. Each movement in the dark, each sound, each quiver that is embraced by the darkness becomes the instrument of fear. It is where the hiders remain hidden, the weepers never have to wipe their tears, and those that hide from their sins are devoured by it every time they close their eyes. Then to them, darkness is a thief. It has robbed them of their freedom. They could no longer leave the dark for their eyes have grown weak to light. Their skin sensitive to the touch of the sun and their senses are in tune to the blackness of nothing. They are prisoners in their own loving darkness, which they loath and love, hate and long for, which in turn loves them and feeds off their love.