A bright star glints in the dark sky, it doesn’t ask to be shrouded in nothingness; captured and released when and if it pleases at the night’s discretion. Yielding to the night isn’t easy, it kills the beacons’ will from within, every time twilight issues its call. Death is the same every time. Every single time. Like the scheduled appearance of the Sun, the night arrives with its indifference but isn’t always welcome. Make that never. Welcome to only a masochist, perhaps. The star’s will is weak. Its power diminishes with every passing second. Who knows whether the night intends to shroud the star in darkness, trapping it in all it has ever known. The pattern never changes, holding the star back from the world it wishes to shine into. It needs a chance. Just once. To explore other atmospheres. Release itself to others. Others who stand to watch the light flourish and survive its new surroundings. Growing in constant awe of its wish to move away from the known and into the life it always knew would outshine its former darkened self.

I was the light.

Anxiety is the darkness.

I burst from the grasp now and again, heading from nothing and into the unknown.

Finally free.

Photo by Dave Watson
Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com