A point of light drifts

A point of light drifts alone throught the bleak grey nothing. The light is self-aware, as much as a light can be. It knows that it is a light, and that is what separates it from the nothing. It hasn’t always been here, but it doesn’t remember anywhere else.

Another point of light wafts past. This is nothing new, the mote is dimly aware of passing many other lights in it’s wanderings through the nothing. This one is different, it feels warm. This light reminds it of itself. The brightness of the other reaffirms it’s own light.

The two lights, feeling similarly, move closer to each other. The warmth and the light draw them in, ever closer. The nearer they get, the brighter their lights. A third mote, looking on from not very far away, can barely distinguish the two.

The two specks of luminescence are in ecstasy. Never before have they been so happy, thrilled that they are lights and not part of the ever-present nothing. For each, the lightness of the other beings them great joy, for, in their proximity, it is just a stronger reflexction of their own light.

As they swirl around each other, their light gets brighter, they illuminate even more of the darkness, and their joy only increases.

But nothing is eternal.

Eventually one of the lights falters and dims, communicating to it’s partner that it needs to rest. The partner slows, and revolves around the resting mote, keeping a watchful eye, in anticipation of the next round of sheer luminosity and heat. The rester awakens, and begins to brighten. It’s partner is so bright that it can barely perceive itself. The light begins to brighten in order to become equal again, while the partner dims so that it can see past itself to the other. The situation is reversed. The light who rested is now brighter. Immediately realizing the futility of pride, the mote dims in shame. The partner, while tired from not resting, only wants to feel the closeness and warmth again, so it dims in order to emulate the other, but moves in as close as it can, to at least feel the warmth.

But the warmth is gone. Oh, it’s still there, but neither can feel it in the face of their earlier brightness. Now the partnership feels cold and clammy, neither feeling the undercurrent of searing light that runs through their connection.

The two lights continue to dim until all that remains is the bleak, grey, lonely nothing.