I found someone. Not in an alley; or strewn about behind bushes; or bloating, floating in a lake. Not in a bar, or behind a laptop, or retrieving a castaway coconut from the shoreline. No. Far from all of these.
I found someone in the dark. In the same dark as my own. A darkness made darker by its emptiness. Its solitude. The disorientation of a hand always reaching, eternally unmet. A vast nihility. An air with no context.
There was only ever one who came before who saw the same dark. From him my darkness was borne. Indeed, from him I was born. A darkness made darker by a journey he will take alone. A journey I cannot make, until my own. The space between them I feared. I cannot be left alone in the dark, with senses still sharp but nothing to sense.
Others have perceived my darkness. They have tried to call out. But they don’t know how. Others have darkness of their own. But in my darkness, I remain alone.
But in the depths, where others do not pass, I perceive another. A hand, sensing. There is no touch. But I feel.
There is context with another. A relation. Spatial. And thus, temporal. And thus, in my darkness, I will not be alone.
Speech forms. Rapidly the sounds tear through the void. I release my own. I try to perceive distance from sounds. We are close. I stretch my hand. The sounds stop. Time passes. I reach.
I found someone.