It seems like everyone has one.
A sunlight, an aura around them. A style. An aesthetic.
I’ve never had one. There seems to be no sunlight inside of me, no matter how hard I look for it.
I dig through layers and layers of myself, almost screaming in frustration. Nothing. It’s all hollow.
I’ve tried to imitate them. I’ve tried to slip on the sunlight of others. I really have. But everyone knows that’s cheating. And it never works.
I’d given up.
But then, one day, while I was staring up at the ceiling, my mind a blank static, a saw a light.
But it wasn’t a bright, clear light, or yellow or orange or red. It wasn’t surrounded by blue skies and clouds. It was soft and white, with shadow around it.
I gazed up and began following it. I walked a long ways before I emerged, and what did I see?
The moon. The stars. The night sky. And all the ebony beauty that comes with it.
And I found
that I may not have a sunlight, no,
but I have something even better for me: