The nothing I feel now: An imagining
This is how I would describe the darkness to you.
What you see is in front of you, filled with hues of light and shadow. I see out the back of my skull through pinholes. Nothing moves.
If you ask me how I feel, I will want to tell you that I am suspended in the air above a black void. I don’t know what is holding me up but I know what it will feel like to be dropped. I don’t feel frightened anymore. Now all I can hear is a muted roar that startles me with the sound of my own voice.
You want to talk about despair? That is something that you feel in the absence of hope. I want to talk about blankness, about the maddening rhythm of the roaring, because it doesn’t change, because I can’t see through the bleak light that filters in the pinholes, because I know that I am going to get dropped and vanish and that the only change will be the absence of pain, and that, that absence, that thing, the thing that makes you start crying in anticipation, makes me feel like feeling nothing won’t be as bad as the nothing that I feel now.