In the darkness,
it is all I know.
I feel power,
but run by hatred and sorrow.
I feel independence,
but it is taken away when I fine
it is not my own.
In the darkness,
there is not pain.
No sight.
Not feelings.
Just numbness.
Ahead, I see a light
I walk toward it, and
I begin to tingle.
I run back to the darkness
and wait for it to attack.
It does not.
I creep forward;
again, I see the light:
I tingle,
I fear,
I want to run—
I almost do!
But I stop.
I turn back to the light.
I walk.
I feel the tingle, but
I realize it doesn’t hurt.
It never did.
I begin to run, but I run towards
to the light now, and as I run,
the light quickly largens.
It grows, and I hear
laughter.
I begin to laugh myself.
I sprint to the light now.
I begin to sense something in
the pit of my stomach.
Butterflies.
I can’t help it, but I smile.
I sprint still, but slow to a run,
jog,
walk.
I stop.
I am at the light.
The warmth is so tempting to touch,
to feel, to experience for the first.
I am scared, but the light
beckons me.
It calls out.
I take a final step,
never looking back.