My Comfort, My Creature.

What is it about fate that makes us want to dig our heels into the dirt?

Why do we feel the need to “rage, rage against the dying of the light”?

I think it’s because we like the dark.

The dark is comforting, alluring, promising all the creature-comforts you’ve grown to both love and hate.

Not like that silly light that shows you how dirty - or lonely - your house has really become.

You want to walk into your place at 1am and go “okay, no one is here.”

But you would hate to walk into your home at 1am and think “I’ve isolated everyone I’ve ever known, and therefore, no one is here.”

Why do we feel that way? If those are our own actions, if those are things we did, why do we deny we did them?

Sometimes, life is not about questions. It is not about introspection and a burning curiosity to discover a value within. 

It’s about feeling. Exploration. Terror and touch.

We have to do these things to FIND the answers. Sometimes we just have to Be. And that’s okay. Because it’s human.