It wasn’t even pitch black. It was a darkness so all encompassing it could only be seen with the soul. And that was her problem. Her soul was stuck in this darkness. The abyss ripped her heart open when he died, and never closed again. By now whole universes could have sprung out of the anti-matter of grief. But they didn’t. It was just dark. So dark.
She knocked on the walls of this darkness; the only response were hollow sounds. It would take her decades to understand that these sounds were sounds of healing. If only she had kept knocking at the darkness.
In the beginning was the word.
This blog is a space to live for my poems and short stories. Opening the box of darkness.
I publish even if the pieces are not finished, so everything is a work in progress. Comments are always welcome.