What would a life worth living look like?
I don't know. How do you get a blind man to describe colours?
I seem to keep getting stuck on this. I want to be wild and explain with vivid words and majestic tones. I want to paint by splashing colours on the white canvas - the impossible. Abstraction which secretly forms beautiful undescribable scenes of frolicking angels. I could be so out there she would laugh at me. But when has she ever laughed at me?
I could be sombre, and tell her in that stilted, faraway voice, that somewhere in there is an abyss so deep even I cannot fathom. Except I've seen it, I've stared into it, even as my soul slowly seeps down there... inside. Would I ever find myself again? There is a part of me that doesn't want to. There is a part of me that's saying what's lost is lost.
I'm so scared. I could tell her.