An Eternal Golden Braid

What to say? What to write?

It's been such a long time since I have had anything worth writing about occur in my slowly ascending existence as of late. I still don't. Except perhaps to tell you why I am awake. Well... there is no one reason for me being awake at this hour. Actually, it's two things. This brilliant dichotomy; two completely different people, unattached in anyway, yet still forming two equal parts of a whole. But perhaps not a dichotomy, maybe a false one; these two are not so different.

Melodrama aside, I've had a lot of changes recently in my life and they have made something very clear to me. I just moved from my only home for my entire life to a new one, and I don't miss it. I have left behind most of my belongings, but I don't miss them either. I don't miss my kitten. I don't miss my dogs. I don't miss my old friends. I don't miss anything about my previous lifestyle save one thing: relationships. At home I was never alone, it was hardly possible. I always had a friend wanting to do something. I always had people I could call. But now I sit in my living room, reading Godel Escher Bach, and wait for the next day to come. I miss having someone to hold. The few people I know in this town are getting busier by the day.

This short story is a story about the dark and the light and why I loved both.

There were far too many things to love in the dark. It was perfect there. I see it and I can still feel its warm touch on my chest, it's gentle caress on prolonged moonlit nights. It's strong voice telling me this, and that, and sometimes more. The dark invited me in, it pulled me out, and where it went... I went. It ventured to share with me its secrets, and I listened diligently. I loved it there, in the places where all I had to do was sense and perceive. Where it's soft touch to my lips was all it said in parting when morning came. And for a long time I was happy there...

The dark was good for me, but it would not let me see.

There are many things to love in the light. It was perfect here. also. I can still feel its warm touch on my chest, it's soft hands in my hair while we lay in the afternoon sun. It's soft voice tells me everything but what I so desperately want to here. The light invites me to follow, where it goes... I go. It tells me it's secrets, but never bares her soul to me. I see here, where I was once blind, though I am wont for intimacy, for love. I am happy here...

The light is good for me, but it will not let me in.


Tonight I sit awake because of the dark. Too many things about it caught my eye, and more than one thing caught my heart. I was not enough for the dark to stay satisfied. She moved on to other... prey. I am done with the dark. I hate it. Yet it hurts to know that the only reason I am am capable of the hate is the honesty of the love I once had for it. It hurts to know that hate and love are so intimately tied as to have true hate be impossible without first having love.

So tonight, when I need solace and consolation, I reach for the light to help me.

But, as I feared...
at night, the light sleeps.