Black.
We can’t see anything, it’s black. We don’t feel anything, it’s black.
Barren. Empty. Remote. Dark. Lonesome. Excluded. Cold. Fragmented. Colorless.
Black is black is black is black.
There’s no substance, no life, no feeling, no light. We can scream and no one hears, cry and no one cares, grasp and not feel anyone.
And we can’t expect the light to come to us. Or can we?
No one can steal what is in the heart and mind, no one can touch the inner self … unless we let them. No one, save God.
Will the light come to us? Can we manufacture light? Can we fashion hope? Can we create love?
Light is light, and black is black.
Light.