Absinthe is My Soul

Darkness, but not darkness as you may know it and I have come to recognize it. Midnight, pitch, deep gloom, silky inkiness. When this stage of feeling has not only been reached, but sustained for more than any reasonable, explainable time span, any dark descriptive word will do.
I live underground. No windows, no fresh air, no sunshine, no whatever. Just down a short hall, there is sunshine and fresh air. Just a few steps, just a small determination to stop the darkness and musty smell that might be my soul. Often the considerable effort just to reach it, to go into that brightness, is more than I can comprehend. It has been said that sunshine and fresh air can be a healthy benefit, but how do I know if this is true? How can I grasp this thought like one would a flashlight in the darkness? Would there be wisdom in the light that I cannot perceive in this dark miasma?
All relationships are flavored by this darkness. Do not think of licorice, but something with more bitterness and a slow syrup-y consistence, such as Absinthe. It is dark, murky, and gets your attention in a heartbeat. Like this darkness, it lingers on the tongue and colors the days and times around me.
Absinthe! That’s it. That is the word that perfectly describes me, the total me, in the here and in the now.
Absinthe! Poured liberally but not sweetened to lessen the jolt.
Absinthe and the darkness have become so welcome and familiar to me that I want them to stay, to linger, to continue to color my days and nights. Holding onto this seems to soothe my soul, calm me, blanket me with a false perception that is all too familiar. I cannot, do not, want to give this up, to replace it with light, laughter, and the joy of being around others. It has become my soul.