I find myself in the dark staring at a corner where a shed of light seem to come through. I was never scared of the dark. I grew up understanding that everything isn’t supposed to be all pretty all the time. My solitude is mainly dark nights, alone with my thoughts either about the future – which I try so hard to figure out before it happens or the past – which I try so hard to replay and hope to change. I conclude these nights with a question – how did I ever get this dark? How did I ever become so entangled with things I can never control?
Ironically, no matter how tragic my thoughts appear, would anyone believe that I am not sad? I am merely walking down memory lane when I was with a friend and friends. The cherished memories of knowing that even in solitude I will never be alone. These memories are both happy and nostalgic. Maybe I have a twisted way of looking at things and a really crappy way of being moved by negativity but none of these matters. In the end, I find myself in the dark staring at a corner where a shed of light seem to come through.