I like when it’s dark. After I have exhausted myself in every way and my body’s empty and my eyes are heavy and I’m just empty. I don’t listen to music or listen to my mother insisting we talk about this. There’s a moment when you are so spent from constantly thinking about everything that you’re mind leaves you. It’s not gone; oh no, you can never get a full reprieve from the onslaught of worry, but it’s just quieter for a moment. It’s been forced out of you and lingers just above your head. You can watch it shape itself and the world, and create and destroy, and eviscerate everything you know until it is all you know, floating between you and whatever else there is. All that is you is your salty cheeks and racing heart beat that breaks the darkness with each weezy inhale. That cloud of everything floating above you suddenly becomes nothing and in the dark you can just make out your warped reflection in it’s fixating shards. Inhale. Exhale. You can’t close your eyes and shut out it’s presence but you reach a point where you can’t even feel them open. The darkness becomes not so dark but shaped and textured. There’s purple and blue and green as you stare wide eyed into yourself. You are pressed down to the ground but yet fill every corner of the room. People are gone, your memories are gone, and you feel so utterly spent. The emptiness is fleeting and draining but you let it hold you there. With the tears evaporating. With your thoughts above your head. With just your breathe. In the dark.