It’s dark. And it’s been that way for a while now. It’s not the kind of dark that makes you question whether or not you’ve shut your eyes, but it’s not just a light blanketing of shadow that announces the onset of dusk either. This dark is somewhere in between. Or maybe it is the between. A saturation of blues and purples that, every now and then, gives way to glimpses of faded amber. They never last. The glow disappears almost as soon as you discover it, like the shimmer of a lightening bug in late June. It shines just enough to show you where it’s been but never where it’s going.
The darkness is normal now. No longer does it feel bleak or cold. It simply is, and I’ve come to terms with that. I don’t go in search for those spots of gold contrasting this eternal midnight anymore. They used to be signs of hope – hope that light would somehow return and reawaken our eyes. Now, they are more like lapses in time when the past and present collide for the briefest of instances. A hiccup in a timeline. Nothing more. It’s nice to have the memory of warmth, of light dancing in the sky, but it’s even nicer not to hold onto a false hope of that warmth’s return.