A circular dark void of empty thoughtlessness positions itself promptly in front of you. You can not see in, past the coating of dark thick paint, simply reflecting back yourself. Of course it isn’t a perfect image of you, but just the pieces the sphere has learnt to imitate, has learnt you admire. You coax the sphere with words of great patience and encouragement, you simply desire to know what it is, what is it made of? But it shows no signs of hope, it floats effortlessly. It’s dark void seemingly filled like a stormy ocean, like the eyes of one filled with worries beyond comprehension. You try adamantly to pollish the sphere, feeling the chill, cold as ice, which it gives off. It becomes no clearer, no more visible or understandable with your prompting. You drop your head, this void of empty thoughtlessness has got to be more than so. You desire greatly to know its secrets, to see inside it. You’re sure there is something inside it. There has to be. You hold the sphere close to yourself, you treasure it with your secrets. If none can see the secrets inside it, surely it will not spill yours. If all it does is reflect small bits of yourself, surely it will not judge. The thick black paint chips under the warmth of your being. It peels slowly at its edges, some lighter colored surface. Blue? Yellow? Is that light? You smile warmly at the newly diminished paint, the void becoming more than mere empty space. Are thoughts seeping through? Surely those ideas you hear are not yours. This process continues, slowly but gradually. You feel the globe begin to warm, heat begin to radiate, brilliant hues and colors spill through when only you are looking, when it can not tell you are looking.

It’s been a while, you haven’t given up. You would never give up now, seeing how much paint has thinned and chipped away. Knowing how bright the sphere can be. You simply wish the sphere would not falter, not repaint itself every time the world becomes darker. It has become just as much of you as you have to it. Warmth radiates in your presence. Your presence no longer imposes upon its aesthetics or genetic make-up. It is what it is, freely. Though still its identity is not entirely certain from looking at it, you think you know. You’re sure you know. There isn’t a doubt in your mind what it truly is if it lets go of its thick layers of paint, its reflective qualities and truly shines forth.

About Robin Elizabeth

My name is Robin Elizabeth and I'm 21. I do not create with my own ability, but with the gift God has given me.

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