Quiet, deadly, engulfing. Nary a soul is present in the darkness lest my own. Endless darkness; deepest at the bottom, yet tallest at the top, and reaching out forever into the horizon, if one can be found. There was a time where embraced the darkness, where the quiet and the peace that flows here gave me comfort. But then, a light shown, and it showed me a different place. The hand that freed me from my darkness was kind and loving, soft, warm, and gentle. I stayed with the hand, giving it all I could and all I would, and for a time, I was at peace, away from the darkness.

But then, a storm came by, and the hand no longer wanted to be there. The darkness, ever present, wanted claim over me, and would do whatever it could to get me back into its cold, unyielding bosom. So began my fall, where the darkness waited for me, but now I was no longer happy with the darkness. Now it gave me pause, gave me fear, gave me despair. It no longer gave me peace, but dread. The dread of being swallowed up and never being allowed to escape drives me to seek the hand, seek the warmth, the gentleness. But the hand is not there, not for me. I can see it, but it eludes me as I get nearer, causing great pain and sorrow. The darkness calls out my name, tells me “See? It was a lie!” but I do not believe the darkness, for it looks out for its own benefit. It wants me, it needs me, and it will do anything to have me back.

Something intangible yet very real creeps up around my legs. It feels like quicksand, with every step I take to get out, I am pushed in deeper. I know I’m being tested, but the darkness wants me to fail, to despair, to falter, to give in. I look back and see the vastness of the darkness and the raw power contained within to grasp those too weak to defend themselves, but I have my strength still with me. For days, it has attempted to swallow me, and for days I keep fighting. Insanity creeps over my head, exposing, revealing, and displaying my fragile frame. Although I fight it tooth and nail, blood and sweat, it has grasped my body, and attached itself to my soul.

I do not want to give in to the darkness, the ever reaching, never ending darkness. I continue to fight until none of my physical form is left, and even then I continue until my soul is no more. I do not want the darkness. I do not need the darkness. I do not care for the darkness. The taste of freedom, as sweet as the ripest fruit picked on the sunniest of days, ever present on my lips; that alone keeps me moving, keeps me going, and keeps me from letting the darkness take what little there is left.

It is impossible for me to say if I will ever win against the darkness, and it is impossible for me to say if the hand will return, or if another should take its place. What little hope I have fades in the darkness, like a candle slowly burning out on the last vestiges of wax that no longer keep it alive. But every so often, the flame is strengthened, given life, but just as quickly reverts to where it once was.

Day by day, night after cold night, the constant unerring march of time cruel takes away little by little. I am left, with an empty husk, and a broken soul. The only way to repair the broken pieces is the power of love, of which I have very little left.

Despair awaits me. And the darkness waits with open arms.