Her soul was black, though not corrupt as one might believe. It was a black swan; an omen for change and transformation. Like ebony, it was darkly beautiful, it emanated power. She was a Queen of the Night Tulip, mysteriously elegant and sophisticated. Her soul was a shadowy midnight silhouette, beckoning you closer.

It made you think you could shed light, illuminate the dark with hope and drown out any pain. Since surely, the unknown sheltered in her heart hides danger and turmoil.

But oh, have you forgotten the beauty in darkness. Pitch black grass left untouched by a starless sky, cloaked by whispy clouds. Smooth obsidian carved into a heart, rich and whole. Far more whole than your empty light, blaring and cold. You have forgotten the thrill of searching without sight, of truly taking in everything in all its forms. You have forgotten the safety night brings, embracing you in all your scars and ugly memories.

Her soul was black, a color that only the lost could love. Only they understood how to find ecstasy in the dejected. Only they knew that the broken don’t need repairing. They only needed to be seen as they were, to be loved for the darkest parts of themselves, not in spite of them.

Because otherwise, is it truly love?