The Anatomy of Absence

I strip away the color until only the silhouette remains. Here, in the grayscale silence of my own mind, I am not drowning; I am dissolving.

The world above is a cacophony of noise and pigment, but down here, where the light fractures into stark white caps against infinite black water, there is truth. I feel no cold, only the heavy warmth of gravity pulling me toward the quiet depths.

You told me to stop running from my own shadow, so here it is: sharp edges defining soft curves. A study in contrast. The darkness does not consume; it cures.

Editor: Monochrome Ghost