I see you're interested in the darkness

In impenetrably black coffee the star caught fire. It was probably the night sky after all, but at that moment it didn't matter to him. At that moment, not much mattered at all.

He concluded that if you stare into the darkness for too long, the darkness starts to stare at you, but he was not destined to remember this, because the darkness was no longer just staring, but rather staring with its whole essence.

No matter how much he tried to tear his stupefied gaze away, each attempt ended only with a greater plunge into the abyss. It was comparable only to quicksand, when each new movement irreversibly drags you deeper and deeper into the suffocating abyss of the inevitable.

He decided not to resist the darkness, but to let it take possession of him and drag him to the very bottom. The abyss, as a faithful companion, is always happy to help, so it gladly grabs the entire body of the unfortunate and pulls him into its cold glassy embrace. The body, longing for darkness, begins to draw closer and closer, as if trying to absorb this darkness into itself like a sponge. The mind resists. The foreign dark substance does not inspire confidence in it. The memories of the past plunge into the dark unknown are too fresh.

It's as if gravity never existed. he's floundering in this blackness, tar, soiling himself with it, absorbing it. he can't decide if this is perverse torture or equally perverse pleasure?

What he sees is wrong.

What he hears is wrong.

What he feels is unforgivable.

But why then does all this immorality so excite every cell of his darkness-stained body? Why does it tempt him with its simultaneous proximity and unattainability? Why does it make him throw himself headlong into an endless abyss? And most important 'why', why does he enjoy hesitating in this choice so much? The suspended state between two opposite abysses and the razor blade on which he parades barefoot. this is what he has always longed for but was not ready to admit. this is his own personal heaven and hell in one bottle. a fantastic mixture of dream and nightmare in reality that he created himself. the choice must be made. the choice is made.

There was a cup of coffee in front of him, as cold as he was.