Hush

Do not name your darkness, yet.

Speak soft, gently… gently…

Take the long way round.

Take the stair by the patio, or the passage through the backyard. Cover your lamp, stay close to the bush.

Your darkness awaits by the window.

It is a lovely window still, if you but squint your eyes and the contours become blurry and then you can fill-in the details from memory.

Memories of foliage and fruits, of iron twisting into elegant shapes, scents of a thousand blooms mingling with incense… a silhouette against the dusken glow.

Hush, baby, hush!

Don’t speak of the darkness. Do not call it by its name.

Turn your back against the window, now, so close, too close. You can almost smell the peeling ochre paint; it was once called Sunshine. You can almost taste the grime sticking to the frame; once its name was Honey.

Darkness sits on the bare dirt floor and whines, whines, whines, whines, whines.

Do not engage. Do not engage.

Do not take its hand.

She will gnaw through your throat, baby. All that blood, flesh, torn veins and membranes, and don’t even get me started on the bone shards … such a hassle, to clean, to mend, to build a brand new throat.

So hush baby, hush.

Not now. Not yet. Not.

Featured image by James Fenner, found on Behance.