The Words of Light

I sat at the desk, staring at the stark white sheet of paper. It was empty. Blank. Like a void that lead to nothing. Like an endless tunnel in a world of darkness. A world that did not know of the greatness it could hold. A world that did not know to let the light in. A world that kept it out. I did not like it. I wished to change the world that reflected onto the blank piece of paper. I let my pencil lower and I scratched in a word. The word did not change the world I saw. But if I turned my head ever so slightly. And squinted my eyes. And leaned closer to the paper, almost tumbling out of my chair, I could barely make out a pinprick of light. The light held so much possibility. The light; the word was "the". I sat back in my chair and relief washed over me. As long as I had that light, the world would not come back. I bent over the sheet of paper and continued writing, the words flowing of the tip of my pencil. The dark shied away from the eleven words, shining with all their muster, leaving me room to write more. But I didn't. Filling up the page would be like staring directly at the sun. Blinding. I needed the contrast. The light and the darkness. Only when you have the darkness can the light shine through. Only then can you see it. I read aloud the little morsels of light. "The light burns stronger, always spreading, like ripples on a pond." I recited. I tasted the words on my tongue. and suddenly they were shimmering in the air. Rippling out into the room.