Even without conscious effort, my old stories used light in the epiphanic moment. You don’t need me to tell you a whole lot about light to understand this: the sun, ‘enlightenment,’ the religious birth. In endarkenment you encounter the opposite of these old words: forget the evil and ignorance we’ve come to associate with them. Forget your electronics that ward it off–for a moment, at least.
I want you to imagine evening bringing on grayscale when the more sensitive parts of our eye take over, when foreground and background patch together no matter what their colors are by day. The nocturnal insects and animals animate the stillness. Maybe a breeze flows by once in a while.
I remember so many nights. In the dark. A few times crying in the loneliness of it, but in the endarkenment, too, the coyote can howl alongside you, and even without a howl escaping, your breaths may become more apparent, meditative.
I lie with the blackness as a companion, scrunch her hair in my hands, look into her pupils; of course, I can’t really see beyond them, but they make the good characteristics all the more beautiful. If can just touch my lips to her forehead and escape.
Kind of derailed halfway through, but I wanted to finish it.