Light, fills our days with pretentious innocence. The colour in everything earthly, is Light in costume. But there would be no Light, were there no nights of the pitch Black. The nights are ideas Black inspires- dark, if feared, mysterious if questioned, imperious if wished, but beautiful if loved.
Light is in love with Black- nothing will explain the complete surrender, otherwise. Held by Black, Light has no escape, and seeks none. They lie in wait for the dawn, which is neither Black’s biggest fear, nor is it Light’s permission to leave.
The dawn is their private secret- Light roams the world, colours the rainbow and splashes her show on every eye that will see. Black lazes around with droopy eyed leisure, coating the crows, sticking to the tyres from the roads, posing on broadsheets as newsprint , teasing light in an umbrella and dappling it under the canopy of trees.
The dusk is where the distance gets unbearable. Merging in shades of grey, orange and purple, their lust streaks the twilight sky. They hide and seek in parts, with Light almost always chasing itself into Black's embrace. They run through the sea, turning it murky with delight; they paint the sky in patches, like inky blue scattered over and over again; they switch on the stars one by one and make a wish after the first star comes alive.
Their fights, give the world it's moon. Stamping the sky spread by Black in a single spot of furious, burnished gold, Light falls onto waves of turbulence that Black's arms cannot contain. Over time and a lot of lapping and coaxing, that stamp wanes while they make up. It reaches its illusory moment of non existence and comes back bright and luminous over another quarrel.
They’ve lived this life a million times over. And it rains when they get head over heels, Light scattering the rain drops the Black clouds drop in joy.