The sky is white. Blank white.

The world is black. Pitch black.

I’ve been living in this world of contrast for many years, and many moments have occurred in that span of time, but no matter how hard I try, I can never remember the ones I enjoyed.

I’ve been living in this world of contrast for many years, and many moments have occurred in that span of time, but no matter what, I always hold onto those moments in which I felt happy.

I can hear the sounds of the forest around me. They are not beautiful or relaxing. The world is binary, and everything around me is either emanating sound or isn’t. I gaze up into the white of the sky, and wonder if somewhere, there’s a world different from the one I’ve been cursed to live in.

I can hear the sounds of the forest around me. They carry with them a unique sense of artistry. The cacophony of tones is a symphony to my ears. I gaze into the white of the sky and wonder who made the world this way, and if they find it as wonderful and strange as I do.

There’s a movement nearby. I look down without a shred of pity upon the silhouette of a filthy creature which has fallen to the bed of the forest. It slowly passes away beneath my gaze. Life is as binary as the rest of the world. Anything is either living, or not living. A change in this state doesn’t concern me.

There’s a movement nearby. I look down, shocked, at the limp silhouette of a deer which has fallen to the ground after desperately running from the one who inflicted it’s wounds. As I know I’m not capable of treating an animal’s wounds, I kneel and weep for it as it dies beneath my gaze. Life always comes to an end, but that makes me wonder why that rule is necessary.

A question resonates in the hearts of lonely creatures in this world.

A yearning rests in the hearts of the liars who claim to love it.

Why is the world so black and white?

Why is the world so black and white?