It’s a slow day. A weak day, as I’ve taken to calling them to myself. I can’t focus, and moving takes an effort I seem to lack. There is no sorrow in the weakness, no frustration. A mere curiosity is the most I can bring myself to feel for this state I am in, and a content smile is on my lips even as I type. Innocent curiosity is the mood of the day, with the occasional not so innocent ranting that I do so well. (It makes others amused, for the most part. I seek to entertain, at the very least, when I blow off steam.)
I find myself staring out my window at the lights and the darkness, at how close the darkness is creeping in. The globe across the street seeks to light up not the world, but itself, leaving the surroundings bathed in shadow. I like it this way…the darkness feels like a companion, a stealthy creature others cry out against trusting, but… I feel safe in it. I dare not flick on a light yet, for fear it will send the darkness into offended flight, and then my companion will become my enemy. I suppose I am one of those demented individuals, having such a fondness for shadow and night, but as long as I do not push it away, darkness protects me more than light ever could. Still…
It’s cold. I long for the sunlight, for the warmth of it upon my shoulders, my face. I had that this afternoon, but now the darkness holds me and does little to achieve extra warmth. If it were close darkness, confined darkness, I know it would succeed, but I would find myself fast asleep if I gave in to that urge and huddled under blankets – and I hate having my face marked with the impressions of my keyboard. I haven’t yet decided if I feel lonely – it’s hard to feel so, knowing that to disrupt this solitude would lead to a shift of my present mood.
Perhaps this would guide me to be more productive, but I’m comfortable here.
And besides, being productive would require a light.
Back to the dreaming in darkness. Til I draw myself out of the world of shadow and focus again on reality.
