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I am, in my own manner, afraid of the dark.

I sometimes try to think of it as a very literal metaphor for mankind as a collective's fear of the unknown: as much as we try to embrace it, caress it, lick it up and down, and make ourselves one with it, we can't. The unknown, the true unknown, is still painfully terrifying.

And, at once, almost inexplicably, the known is terrifying and painful to be around as well. Familiarity breeds contempt, they say, and that certainly is true. I don't like knowing the same people day after day, I don't enjoy looking up into the sky and always seeing the sun. The sun hurts my eyes. I don't like the darkness, but I also don't like the light. The darkness is a dull pain, a sick fear in the pit of my belly.

The light is sharp pain, a grating hurt that rips at my eyes.

There must be reconcilliation. A middle ground must be found, or else everything may be lost. What if a meteorite were to collide into Earth, and humanity were to die because he never bothered to close his eyes, stumble through the blackness, and make another home for himself? What if we never find or go anyplace new because we can't gather up the courage to face the night? I suppose the thing that frightens me the most is this--what if we will never be better than we are now?

what if I'm never better than I am now?

This metaphor is all well and good, but it doesn't help me sleep at night.