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? Is it to experience death? Living without love feels like death. Like a deep, damp hole beneath the earth. I lay 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.