I could hear my own heart beat as I lay my head on the table. 12.52 Am and I found myself moving my pen across the paper, trying to think of something rather extraordinary. I thought to myself, “Why did I stop? Why did I ever stop?” as I stared blankly at the uniformly printed lines on the pages of my journal. I found myself looking around to find something for my mind to latch on to and bring to life on paper but in vain; All I saw was darkness. The pillow on my dank and depressing bed, however, could be seen due to the little light that was cast on it, tinting certain portions in glow while the others remained in darkness, creating a visual, that I recall was pleasing to my mind at that moment. The ups and downs, the highlights and the shadows formed by the creases of the pillow creating their own artwork, made me wonder if beauty exists only because of light? But then I was brought to the realisation that without darkness light would cease to be. I wondered why man then feared darkness and loved the light? I wondered if he had ever tried to comprehend the beauty of darkness? Perhaps not. I did not blame him though, for the beauty of darkness was far too vast for the human mind to fathom.