Typewriter Series #3078 | 5.1.21

We’re a half blink from some darkness, and we do our damndest to forget this. We push it away and fill our minutes with as much light as we can muster, we chase it, don't we? Some are afraid of the dark before we begin again, fear it eternal and crushing, the bottom of the sea closer to the center of this place than the surface. Some distract themselves best they can, live like it’ll never come. Some know better.

I know the darkness, I’ve felt its fingers, I know the arms of it, call her familiar, and say it in a hopeful tone. This is where this poem comes from, this familiarity, this warm knowing I don’t know what else to call. You can talk to me of starlight, of the miles its traveled, you can tell me every inch of every bit of black in the sky is filled up with galaxies, but still I know the darkness, still I love it.

We need both, don't we, bit of pitch, bit of shine?

Talk to me of light,

the speed at which

a star finds my eyes,

tell me that it’s long 

since dead, 

but make it sound

hopeful.  

Some are terrified

of being here

when it’s all gone black,

time catches up

and there’s no more 

glow to reach us.

But I know darkness 

as a limbed thing,

I have felt it hold me.

-Tyler Knott Gregson-

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