The Amber.


The Light.

I allow it in and roll around with it like an animal – a labrador that’s been caged too long. I find the brightest spot and curl up. Basking in it, I savor its warmth. It feels good.

Ah. This is what I’ve been searching for – – this feeling right here.

Inevitably, I grow restless and bored. I begin to fidget. I turn in circles, crossing then uncrossing my legs, in an attempt to mimic the position I was in when I first felt the warmth. I sit just so and motionless, waiting for something that never comes. I stand up to leave, walking slowly at first, then faster and faster, until I’m running full speed towards the dark and its beckoning intensity.

The Dark.

It doesn’t take much effort to find it. Sometimes it even finds me first. Either way, I rarely put up much of a fight. We exchange pleasantries. It masquerades as light to ensure it really has me, although we both know it does and did a long time ago, and this is all just one big formality. As the dance begins it wraps itself around me and I let it. Slowly, it envelopes me completely. My heart skips a beat and I finally feel the rush and purpose of it all — no longer bored, I feel alive again. I savor its warmth, like I did that of the light, but I’m aware that it’s different and less pure. I shouldn’t be here which is exactly why I am. Little by little its grip tightens, growing stronger and stronger hand in hand with my uneasiness.

Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. The light did feel really good.

With panic and regret rising, I struggle to escape. I beg for the boredom but it’s too late, so I fall limp and offer the dark what’s left of me. I have no fight left and besides I chose this. I lie there until it tires of me then, using my hands to feel, I stumble my way back to the light.

_ _ _

Often times, I’m convinced I prefer this lingering state of melancholy and restlessness, this soul that’s always looking for more but just don’t ask it of what. I beg for kindness and caring, but once they show up I escape out a bathroom window with disrespect and apathy. I pray for a smooth journey but, once on it, throw a banana peel directly in my path. I am nothing if not the most skilled saboteur.

I have so many words which, to the annoyance of some, I use too often without ever saying much, and for the love of god they just asked me a simple question. I can shoot the shit all damn day – a master at the mundane – but when it comes to adequately conveying this restlessness and longing inside of me, I’m only able to use the words of others.






_ _ _

The Amber.

I temper all my uncertainty and doubt with the reminder that I don’t have to choose light or dark — but that I can stay in the amber. I haven’t found this amber yet, or maybe I have and simply got bored before it felt safe enough to show itself. Either way, it’s out there … that perfect balance of whatever it is I’m searching for: something good but not too good, something bad but too bad — something a little more like me.

Or, maybe it’s just PMS and all I need is a little god damn chocolate.

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