We are stardust, water and dark matter. The happiest people, the richest, the most successful and the toughest people, they all have that darkness in their hearts, in the empty recesses in their minds. We all have that dark place and there's something about the night that makes hiding in there so much easier, so much more appealing. We snuff out our lights with our human hands, and we cower in the shadowed regions of our darkest minds, waiting for morning to come, gasping for relief.
People tell me I'm cheerful. And I agree. I get loud and I prance around like a little girl. I'm animated and sometimes crazy, nonsensical, weird. But I have that darkness too. In moments of solitude, I succumb to dark thoughts and entertain the darkest of voices in my head. My heart clouds, my features fall, and I become darker. Why do we let this happen to us?
She plays tetris with her body and tries to fall asleep as her chest rises and falls with each whimper. She is crying. And practically, she is sleeping in a closet. She looks like a clown. Stupid, pathetic and not the least bit funny. She's better in the morning but at night, she is a wreck. And like this it plays in my head: she's so small and everything's so dark. The path she takes, faintly illuminated without railings, leads her to a cavity in her heart. All around her, the stars don't shine, the winds don't howl and the cold is numbing. Vast expanse of space and dark matter, all around her. They wait for her as she walks alone. She's not crying, she's not saying a word. It is only dark. Very dark and extremely cold.
Everything that there is are her broken self and her darkness.
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