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(Scroll down a bit to “a brilliant mind” posted on March 7, 2013, and read that first. This is an update to that post.)

Two years later, I caught up with the light, after a long, arduous run. Gasping for air, almost breathless, I marvelled at our proximity, hoping she didn’t notice the sweat brimming around my eyelids, pooling on my upper lip, and dripping from my hair. I could finally see this light up close and personal, and best of all, hold perfection in my hands. It threw everything else into shadows as we ravished each other’s presence, two lonely people brought together by the forge of circumstance.

Bathed in this warm and incandescent light, I was happy for a while. It shone through many cracks that I hadn’t seen before, brought to my eyes countless intricacies of this world that I hadn’t noticed in my blindness. All at once there were new lands to explore, and explore them we did, always with this light guiding me. Yet as we went on, still pushed relentlessly forward by the same tides of time, I started to see something different, something unsettling. This light… there was something strange to it. I couldn’t articulate what it was, but where was the perfection I thought it embodied? The closer I got, the more its warmth dissipated, and I was caught in the middle, like a mind adjusting between an optical illusion and reality. All too soon it felt cold and impersonal, like fluorescence.

When I resurfaced back to reality, I almost couldn’t see the light any more. I tried fighting, but that would mean sinking back into self-constructed fantasy. As a solace I told myself it was simply that we moved on to different wavelengths, and that’s why she started disappearing into invisibility. In the end I let go. I returned to blindness.



is a playground for my unspeakable thoughts.

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