It was the kind of pure black that speaks of new beginnings.
It is in the black of spacetime that the light is so at home.
Then comes the blessed night, when black heavens are cathedral to a congregation of stars.
Black is the colour of my canvas, for I am an artist of dreams, eyes at peace, brain owning my inky stage.
The noble black night had a way of bringing comfort to my senses.
Black heavens above, black sun-warmed earth at my soles, the star-freckled night wrapped around my heart.
It was a strong black, deeply soulful in the way all absolute things are. It was the sort of black that brought the silent music of the universe so deeply within one's core.
In the black I could sense myself as a being of love, someone whose soul is a beacon to those seeking safe harbour. I could sense that energy within as a noble force, as something brave and eternal. It was as if in all that black, when all distractions fell away, I was the real me and that "me" is someone far greater and more loveable than I'd ever imagined.
In times of trouble come wrap me in your blackest hug, for then my soul feels protected.
In the black my soul was free. The black let my beauty radiate from within. It was as if for the first time I could feel my edges, my skin, as the if were the boundaries of the heaven I contain within. And so, if the black has stars or if it is pure in inky darkness, I am entirely myself.