At some unknown point, darkness welled up from the depths of his heart, then gathered together until it became a bottomless abyss.
Within that abyss, he had always gazed at the place where the light shone.
A being unstained by darkness or evil, forever pure and holy: at last, that person became aware of his existence.
He sneered in the shadows, mocking the faith placed in the light.
Did Buddha really exist? Looking down upon the mortal world from on high, bringing vague, illusory hope to the foolish masses who believed in him. Little did they know that having hope was the greatest disaster of all.
But darkness had never denied that hope existed within him, too.
He wanted a pair of hands, so he could touch what he loved.
He wanted a body, so he could defile that light with abandon.
Now he had what he wanted. The person he longed to touch lay beneath him.
This is the little transparency that admires you. Are you still here, the author? . . . . Is the Dark Night Apocalypse just such a trap? . .
Author, if you are still alive, come and fill in the holes.
It's fun to step on it and leave your footprints as you pass by and occupy a sofa. . .