The dark is a place for indiscretion. In the dark we are simply animals out for carnal pleasure. Hunting, Judging,Preying. For in the dark we are emboldened. No longer do we creep around pleasure. Dive into ecstasy. Explore one another, no longer two but one. For where else can synchronization be so rich? Hushed moans, sweat, shivers. Skin to skin, attraction to reaction. The dark is a place for indiscretion.
The whole world spins on one axis, yet we each have our own personal axis. Whether that may be another person, a job, or a hobby; if that were to vanish, then what? See that’s the million dollar question, there is no “then what”! I was so scared to let go of my stories, my fictional life. I was scared that when I let them go, I would no longer have any sort of identity. In the end, I guess my life revolved around my story telling. The truth of it is, I am just your run of the mill kid trying to figure out what the fuck to do. I was so scared of being ordinary, of blending in, of getting swept away in the normalcy of daily life. Yet, here is the deal: It is not a crime to belong. I worked so hard to make myself an outsider but when push came to shove, I just wanted to be on the inside. I guess the point is, without my stories, my fictional life, my world still keeps spinning.