Dark to Light

I want to be someone who can turn dark to light, a rainy day to a joyful day.  I want to be an alchemist for the soul. There is only one ingredient I need to succeed:


If I don’t feel love I go black.  I’m always black lately.  I feel incomplete: like half of a whole, like the sun in eclipse, a new moon, a light bulb dim on a weak filament.  I find it impossible to shine on anyone if my heart is mud.

Lots of people are happy without a partner.  I am not one of those people.  I am simply a part, waiting for my other part.  I am a lock without a key.  I am the day without sunshine, night without the stars, soup without a spoon. I am a bee without a hive.

Why am I even living I wonder; to experience death? Living without love feels like death.  Like a deep, damp hole beneath the earth.  I’m laying in this hole, staring up at the azure sky, watching vivid scenes of euphoria pass overhead, like an offering, but out of reach, rolling by like scenes from a movie. The earth saturates my clothes.  I am cold and wet. My bones ache and my head hurts and I retreat into the pain. When I collect my sobs and peek through lashes laden heavy with salted tears, I can see that the movie is still playing, calling me to engage, but I cannot find my way out of this grave.