I hear your blackness settling like dust across the loom of my lungs, each inhale a cavern so vast it echoes the promise of light. I know it will pass, but it is so dark.

In this calm of shadows, I count heartbeat by heartbeat, tracing the arc of a dawn that stubbornly waits beyond the wall. Hope is a whispered witness to the weight of night-time’s cloak.

My thoughts coil like wrought iron, heavy with the memory of blue. Still, I carry the ember of knowing that every eclipse holds its end, that even the longest winter breaks beneath a patient sun.

So, I honour the black, its truth and its chill, and trust in the slow return of colour. Until then, I will hold this candle, flickering against the void, a small blaze declaring that night bows to morning.