The Edge of Lightness

He stared into the sharp edge of darkness, and admired its definite lines, its curves and angles sharp, shimmering, flawless. There was a beauty here that in the beginning he could not appreciate, but now having lived within its shadow for some time, he had moved from fear to respect. It seemed somehow true that in not killing him, it did make him stronger, though in the beginning he would rather have died. Now, as he patiently, deliberately walked towards it, he could see that in this three-dimensional place it had only two dimensions, and when seen from flat on, there was only the darkness. From this place he was now, he could the see the brilliance of a thousand suns rising from its distant edge. The edge was hope; it meant that this too had an end, and that depending on where he started, the journey across might be long and tortured, or short and swift, but it would come to an end. The light was bright, distant, expanding to fill the void, not yet within his grasp, but from where he had once cowered, he could not see it at all. Now the light guided him, made his step more certain. Now he knew it had limits and where the path would lead, and that he could cross it.