Imagine a mirror. Its face is dark. Ripples spread out across its surface in dark velvety waves. There is no light in the mirror but rather a pulsing, comforting, fertile sort of darkness. The type of darkness a seed could take root in.
Or an empty dance hall, if that works better. Hardwood floors reflecting moonlight and tall arching windows bouncing the last echoes of a tune long forgotten. Imagine the tall shadows stretched into the corners, keeping the lonely ceiling company.
Imagine a deck of tarot cards, edges fuzzy and well worn. They sit against one another, close but comfortable. The space between the cards simultaneously imperceptible and vast. The design on the back of the cards is familiar but unknowable, like a familiar face in a foreign country.
Think about tree branches at the end of winter. Imagine the leaves curled up in tiny buds. Imagine waiting in darkness, protected and nourished. Imagine.
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