“Looks like I have a type” you say, with a touch of lighthearted resignation that I long to imagine.
One has a light side and a shadow side, and a true center.
The light sees the light, and one fancies that’s the type. But the shadow recognizes the shadow, and that is stronger.
The shadow longs, the shadow grips, the shadow pulls and pushes, powerful and unaccountable under its shrouds.
The light laughs, and plays, and dances. Carelessly, it chips off the shreds of the shadow, the light trickles in, the darkness oozes out.
The true center beholds, reclaims the playground, says yes. Love resides there.