I always liked shadows. They felt more honest than light. Whenever I found myself in dim corners of hushed cafes, I would lean over to the stranger next to me, confessing, “The world looks better into the dark.”
My apartment, situated on a bustling offshoot of the main road, always maintained a cozy, dim ambiance, comforting in its subtle mystery. Sometimes, she would dance by the window. The soft glow of the moon would outline her silhouette. “Someone’s out there, watching,” I would say, a hint of unease in my voice. Sipping wine, a slight smirk on her face, she would reply, “Then let them see.”
Nights would melt into mornings. We would talk or not, sit close or on opposite ends. Predictability was never our thing.
One evening, she spoke of departure. The weight of her words lingered. “Don’t kiss me goodbye, some endings need no exclamation mark.” she said .
Lately, I found myself fascinated by the railroad tracks. The certainty of their direction, their straight paths, felt reassuring. However, for all that certainty, I missed our shared uncertainty.
It was never about the stark contrast of light or dark, but the gray spaces in between. Those were the places where we truly lived. For in my world, darkness and light were not rivals; they were dance partners in an eternal ballet.
“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” –John 1:5