Dark Adaptations

By Mary Antonette P. Fuentes

Rain falls, stacking in the gutter
Not a single sound I hear nor a mutter.
Aside from the drips,
Silence resonates with me in this four-cornered room
Accompanied by thin and hard-to-breathe air and gloom.
I am deprived by darkness.
He’s the only companion I’ve got.
He’s with me through this lonesome time of bad luck.
He’s with me when the world seems in love.
Good luck about that.
I’m not a hater of love
Nor a lover of hate.
I’m a believer before.
Well, I guess fate must’ve changed.
It took me some time before I could see
How reality plays us in its hands of fantasy.
I became dependent on this so-called forecaster.
I’m a voyager in this sea of invincible monsters
That have the face of enlightened angels.
Monsters that say, “In here, sweetie, let me take care of you.
I’d be delighted.”
Promising as it may sound
Every sweet thought has its bounds.
Never fall to this betrothal trap
Devilish deed.
I say, “You are not a rat.”
You can’t blame me, though.
All my life I’ve been living with this blinding light.
I grew with such great thirst
To know how mighty the dark is.
Dilated pupil? Maybe not.
Increased sensitivity? Somewhat.
To put it simply,
The eye adapts to conditions of reduced illuminations.
I’d like to call it “dark adaptations.”