My dark, cold and lonely city is not dark, cold and lonely.

My dark city is not just dark. It’s not just cold. It’s not just lonely.

My dark city is as dark as the soul when lost in the mists of humanity and it’s meaning.

My dark city is as cold as the bottom of the ocean, hiding the last remainings of early age on Earth, time before human walked on Earth, time before time.

My dark city is as lonely as the last person on Earth, knowing that somewhere on the globe, somebody else thinks the same and feels like the last person on Earth. As lonely as an adventurer, whose ship sank and he drifted on an uncharted island, just to find himself and be found again by the faith of humanity.

My dark city is a city of hope. My dark city believes in light at the end of an open road. My dark city persistently walks in the rain, just to be there when the rain stops, just to feel the sun rays again and maybe catch a glimpse of the new rainbow.

My dark city lives. It is alive more than most who live in a citadel of light, always afraid that the darkness might come again. My city evolves. It knows life comes in cycles. It grows, it falls, it flows, it stops. And it never stops believing.

Day 65 of my 100 Days of Writing Challenge.