I used to think shadows were scary.
I thought they were evil.
But now that I look at them, a dark silhouette against the cold pavement floor, I realized they're not as scary as I had thought.
They're just misunderstood.
Shadows follow us everywhere.
Everywhere, that is, where the light shines.
They're the inner part of us.
The darker part of us.
The purer and more genuine part of us.
That are covered by our humanly facade.
Now that I think about it, we are all plants.
Whether we want to be or not.
We need the sun.
We need its light.
We need its warmth.
We need its attention.
No.
Their attention.
But every time the light shines upon our flawed beings, shadows are formed.
A shadow, once alive, separated from its soul.
And as the shadow falls into the shame of the ground and the soul disappears and holds hands with the wind, a body of an imposter appears, becoming a person the shadow, itself, feared it would become.
.
.
.
.
.
Shadows are a part of us.
They are not evil.
Unless you call yourself evil.
Shadows are the part within us that we casted away to the ground in order to feel the attention and warmth of the sun.
They are the person we were meant to be.
But since discarded and disregarded, the person we left behind falls into eternal darkness, becoming a monster to the imposter's eyes for the imposter cannot believe he or she was a part of that lowly creature.
The more we relish in the sun,
the more we create shadows.
And the more we create shadows,
the closer we become into losing ourselves.
YOU ARE READING
A Prose With No Direction
SpiritualA prose with no direction. A mind with no guidance. A human without a purpose. That is the kind of story I hate to be. That is the kind of story I, unfortunately, am.
