Staring into the emptiness inside of me, I feel a reeling pain, sliding through my brain, cutting off what ever was left to see.
I am now a man of no vision, no bright lights around the city, no children playing, no birds chirping off my balcony.
Blinded by the darkness, deafened by silence, I can still see.
I see silhouettes of my memories, etched on a black slate, moving, constantly, to create a world of vision of its own uniqueness.
In the black scapes, stretching to eternity I see colours, the colours of dreams I once dared to achieve, the landscapes that were so real while I was a child. Today, they are no more. I played into the darkness in the green grass that lined my little house, my mother, calling from the inside when dinner was ready, while father, came running towards me, carried me in his arms, and took me inside.
The green landscape is my first love, I see it everyday, I feel it everyday. Days, months and years have passed away since I was last there, but they still are within me.
My home is my dream, not so unreal as it may seem, but remembering the fact that I cannot see anymore, is a story in its own self.
Today I can see. I see what I want to see, not what the world wants me to see. I am a person of free will. Though blind for many, but those who know what I feel, long for the beautiful dark black landscapes that I have reached.