Written Through These Amber Eyes

The writer in the dark; these conversations always grow silent, as if they never took place, always accepting fate for what it is. People may or may not be as they seem, where actions matter more than words because words never align with actions. 

Quickly, almost all at once, it feels as if you’re sitting and reading in the same setting, then getting up chapters later where everything looks different. Although later, when returning to that setting, it all appears similar and their voices sound the same, that dim orange lamp is now a bright yellow hue casting the true shadows of the room. 

To see it all, to let it all play out: a collective of truths, not because you don’t care, not because words hold their importance, but because in my calm, sincere, controlled silence, their weary emotions act out in the most authentic colors that they wear. It’s simple: a writer in the dark. Yes, the feelings linger long after everyone is masking themselves to jump to the next emotional filler. Yes, they think you live for the lustful occurrences. Letting them believe whatever is why the recollections within the dark are always worth the silence.