The darkness is pervasive. With the rolladens down over the window it could be any time of day and still be dark, but night has blanketed the rest of the house, making the darkness total and complete. I could hold my hand in front of my face and not be able to see it. No light seeps in. No sights escape.
I am cuddled on my husband’s chest, our hands entertwined. Sleep is beckoning yet we do not heed its call. Instead, the words pour out. Words that are afraid of daylight. Words that are afraid of being seen. Words that still seek the comfort of physical touch in the deprivation of the other senses. Words that are softened by the pitch of quiet voices and dampened by the dark. Beyond our little circle is the unknown and it is frightening, but within, there is just comfort and the search for reconciliation.
Sometimes the words are simple and quiet. At times they are broken and defeated. Tears come with them, tears come to sub for them, tears come to wash away the pain. Not all of the words are gentle. Some are those words described as inappropriate and offensive by genteel society. Even they play their part. It all comes together to underscore the act of two people merging as one.
No problem arises that cannot be solved by quiet words on a dark night. No wound is inflicted that cannot be cried away in the comfort of his arms. The darkness opens the door and lights the path to solution and healing. The therapeutic power of late night smooths over the awkward and frightening topics often raised.
Sex. Religion. The Future. The Past. All are primed and waiting for the wrong word to let them explode out in all their fury. In the dark though, one can slip unaware past the trip wires to the safety zone.
There is no embarassment there. No censure. Only a persistent push for resolution. When found, the sweetness of victory releases the hold of the night. Sleep comes for the problems have been resolved, cured, healed. Only at night.