I like being in the dark. It’s quiet, it’s calm, it’s cold, it’s comfortable. Though, slowly, holes start appearing, light starts breaking through the cracks. It’s hard to embrace, it’s different, it’s new, but it’s warm, it’s welcoming, it’s a hand reaching out to grab me, I force myself to grab it, and I break through the surface. I see this bright world, there’s so much light. And then I see it, I see him. He’s the light, he’s the thing that makes this world so light, he’s the hand that grabbed me and pulled me free. The dark tries to pull me back, but he keeps his hand in mine, he holds me, and helps me find a new calm, a new comfort, a new home. He helps me feel happy, he makes me see how truly empty the dark is, and he helps me fill it with light, the holes become larger, the cracks start to break away, and I am whole. I love him. He loves me. Our love is quiet, yet loud, it’s calm, yet crazy, it’s warm, so warm, it’s comfortable, it’s home.