It is dark here.

You don't know where you are, or why you're here, but you know it is dark. It surrounds you, envelopes you completely, and you are scared. It is faint and perhaps it is the only hopeful thing you have right now because it gives you a sense of self; you are scared, you are in this darkness right now, your heart is beating: despite how little you feel right now, as if a speck of dirt in this vast ocean of sweltering blackness, you are there, however faint. You cling to yourself, claw at the soft seas of nothingness around you, searching desperately. You want to see light; you want to have hope. Hope. The prince of hope, you; thinking these kind of thoughts. How absolutely revolting. The thought sends your stomach plummeting farther into the breaches that is despair, loss, and you can't help but feel even worse. The darkness, an immense coldness, sadness, swallows you: it tightens its grasp around your throat, presses in around you from every angle, and your breath is harsh and rasp; it cuts the silence like knives, makes it all so more lonely and frightening. What does one do, in this kind of situation?

Nothing, of course.

You close your eyes tight, only then realizing you'd had them open. Of course, here, you couldn't tell; not in this kind of blackness. You want to sleep, and yet, it does not come. How long you press in on yourself, curling hands tightly around fists of hair, struggling to think; breathe - you do not know, but it is surely a long time. You search for memories, but none come, and desperation sinks even further in for you. Emotions as you haven't ever felt before curl around you as smoke would, envelope you, suffocate you, and you claw your way through them, fighting to keep sane. Maybe staying as you are is strength, maybe keeping your head out of the water called horror is one way you can redeem yourself in your own eyes - not anyone else's. Because here, you do not have anyone: not a soul, wisp of air; not a whisper, not a warm breath; not an insult, not a smiling face; not a morail, no heart breaking fondness - there is you, and only you.

And then, thinking of this, you wonder: did you have anything before this moment? Before you woke, to suffocating darkness, deep despair, was there any light, or are you only now realizing your reality? You do not know these things, and you do not realize you are imploding in on yourself, flinging away what little sanity you have left by thinking such thoughts, and you continue to think them. Were you in love, did someone love you? Was there a smiling face, bright against the never-ending horrorterrors? Was there worry felt by someone else when you, hurt, never answered them?

Did she ever cry for you?

Maybe you'll never know, or maybe you can simply hope, however pitiful. Hope, hope, hope: a light against the deep darkness. A path, lighted: a path, brightened. But what kind of path is it? Maybe the path of life, maybe the everyday routine: maybe the simple light needed to continue living, maybe the path lit was the one leading towards happiness, joy - you're unsure of this, you think, maybe all of them: maybe all of them, because now, your light is gone; your hope, joy, your everything. All of it sucked away: the light, brightly hanging there, dimming for an unfathomable long time, suddenly, completely gone.

You can't see your way any longer.

So you struggle to cut through the darkness that is loneliness, struggle to break free of the despair strangling you, growing tighter and tighter every day. You had done your best, you think, when you had no light, hope, whatsoever: you had gone on longer than expected. But now, the inevitable has happened, and you are trapped: trapped where, you don't know, but here, it is dark.

It is dark and you cannot escape it.

You wonder if you can pray long and hard enough that your hope will come back to you. Of course, you know in the back of your mind, that no matter your efforts, your love, hope, your guiding light, will never return.