It was dark. It was always so fucking dark. Like that middle of the night, no stars, no moon, no hope dark.
It always was, with Frankie.
She thought that eventually, everything would lighten up. Instead, her vision was continually blurring into darkness and her hands were continually grasping for something visible.
Inside, in that deep crevice he put her in, she felt like there was no way out of that all-consuming feeling. She felt like she was disappearing. Or even worse, that she never existed.
Wasn’t that the beauty of being deep in love, though? Desperate reaches for answers unknown, dark feelings of despair, a longing to feel more alive?
Isn’t it all just different shades of darkness?