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It was the veil between light and the fathomless depths of creation. The most concealed parts of the sea, the backdrop to the Ancient Greek’s dot-to-dots. People felt it flowing thick in their veins, flooding into the bruised and broken patches of their skin, churning in their eyelids when sleep wouldn’t come. It was as smooth and as dark as the shadows in an amethyst geode, or as the reflections in a Clydesdale’s eyes. It was as warm and as cold and as piercing as purple-white lightning on a summer night, and was as heavy as clouds shrouding the moon as a full rain embraced the dust. It was the taste of dark chocolate and blackberries slipping over one’s tongue, bitter and sweet and tart, all in chorus. It was the smell of pouring molasses, and of the slow burn of tar, and of billowing smoke. It was the sound of echoes in a damp cave, the one note of proof that something could lie ahead, that would give back. It was to sink deep. Into velvet, into the bottomlessness of the ocean, into the idea that existence beyond human being’s contained perspectives far surpassed the furthest branches of their imaginations. It was the distance one felt while staring into the night sky, trying to grasp the sheer immensity, the massive reaches of the space beyond. It was the closeness one felt while being wrapped in darkness with someone they loved, trying to grasp the sheer immensity, the massive reaches of the space within.

 

Three one two zero three eight.

 

It was the color of the universe, after the universe ceased.

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