Shadow

It's cold in the Shadow.
But the darkness covers my nakedness and wraps around me like an inky black friend.
The Shadow is lonely.
But I take comfort that no one can truly see me here.
And if no one can see me, or touch me, or know the truth of me, then I am safe.
The pain in the Shadow is great.
But I see the light from a distance and it hurts my eyes, which have grown accustomed to dark, to murky, to indistinct.
The Sun would burn my pale skin.
The Shadow has no joy and sucks what life there is from my soul. But it is a refuge from the Light. If I do not venture forth, and risk it, then I shall never feel rejection.
In the Shadow I can pretend I am seen.
Yes, they are lies, but it is better than the sting of reality.
The mask I wear can be whatever I wish it to be, and no will ever know what's beneath the crust.

Once, one came to draw me out.
But fear overpowered me, and I fulfilled the prophecy of rejection - I rejected her.
I retreated to the Shadow.
I could see her there, in the light, head bowed and shoulders quaking.
I reached out my hand, wanting to touch, but I couldn't.

The Shadow is familiar and doesn't challenge me.
Here I can stay small, and weak, and stunted, and no one forces me to grow... or to love.
Coldness is my comfort, lies are my cloak, and pain is my gift.
Isn't the gloom lovely?