What good are words? Specifically what good are mine? I was born to describe mountains and valleys, a world full of life and light. But I am in the dark. I am speaking from a dark place. I don't have the gift of the light of your eyes, here, in my room, at this hour. When you cast your light upon my world the words I have are the beauty you have blessed me to see. But here in the darkness, words can only frighten, agitate and disturb. They attack from unseen angles and cause a swarm of bats. Words are no use in the dark, loud or soft.
While I am in the dark I will take my own idol's advice and be a light unto myself. I will not describe this cave, I will not describe the cold wind I've become acquainted with, for it jars me awake from the nightmares. In this cave my words echo with increasing intensity, farther into the distance, farther from my intent. I understand now that this will only cause you to close your eyes from either fear or disgust. What light then will there be?
I will not speak of darkness. Will you open your eyes?
That was always an ask, not a declaration.
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