Undiffused

It’s interesting how the light doesn’t spread; not even a beam shoots down from the source, as if Scotty was never in charge. Nobody’s going anywhere. A visible beam would mean light shining on particles in the air. No dust? No skin cells? No moisture? Or is the darkness just that oppressive? How do you even know where you are, if the light is your only point of reference? It’s not illuminating anything else, but the darkness can’t cover it. It can’t snuff it out. The point here is not that the light isn’t shining on anything; the point is that it’s shining at all, and that you can see it. You might try to get semantic and say it’s shining on the dark, and without the darkness, you couldn’t see the light. The darkness provides some competition for your eyes, true, but do your eyes follow the darkness or the light? Can your eyes focus on complete darkness? In the dark, your pupils dilate, wider and wider, to let in as much light as possible, fumbling for the slightest flicker, because darkness is nothing, except the lack of light. Darkness is a void that light too easily fills. It doesn’t have to be completely dark for light to take over. It’s darkness that spreads when light fades; there are no beams of darkness. Darkness doesn’t even have a chance.