in the dark

Every important conversation I have had for the past six months has taken place in the dark. It started six months ago today, actually, when my girlfriend and I decided to take a vacation: a road trip on I-5 south, no plans, no itinerary, no warning. During the day it was all laughs and adventure, but as evening wore on, and we were tired or drunk or whatever, that's when things got serious. But the important conversations came when we were in the car, or the cab, or the hotel, and the lights were off. That's when we'd talk about the things that would change us forever.

It wasn't just her, or just then. I was on my laptop in my bedroom and my father came in and sat down on a chair--it was about eleven in the evening and the screen provided the only light. I was in my living room after watching a movie with my sister. I was in the car with my friend. I was outside of my girlfriend's apartment. I was on the roof of my sister's building. I was walking my friend home from the bar.

Always in the dark. I'm not sure why, but every fight, every promise, every shoulder to cry on, every piece of advice. No light. No eye contact, no facial expression. Just the promise that someone else is there with you, in the dark. I don't know if that's why, but it's a lot more comforting.