To My Dearest, Most Consistent Internal Darkness,
I write to you today not with anger, but with a complex cocktail of resignation, apprehension, and, dare I say, a sliver of gratitude. For decades, you have been my most constant companion, a silent, pervasive void residing comfortably within my various bodily cavities, particularly that nebulous area just behind my sternum where 2 often congregates. You’ve been there through thick and thin, through triumph and trivial Tuesday, a steadfast absence of light, a testament to the fact that some things simply are, without explanation or illumination. I've grown accustomed to your subtle hum of nothingness, your reliable lack of sparkle. Indeed, I’ve often credited you with my uncanny ability to find things in dimly lit rooms, purely by contrast. You were my personal, portable night.
But alas, dear Darkness, our long, unlit era may be drawing to a close. Word has reached me – through whispered scientific articles and the hushed tones of excited researchers – that a new technology is on the horizon. They speak of 'ultrasound creating light inside the body.' Light, Darkness! Inside *my* body! Do you grasp the sheer effrontery of it? It’s an eviction notice, plain and simple, delivered by sonic waves rather than a landlord. Are you prepared for this rude awakening? For photons to rudely penetrate your established domain, to shine their garish beams into the very nooks and crannies you’ve so carefully maintained in perpetual twilight?
I confess, I’m torn. On one hand, the prospect of internal illumination sounds... well, rather flashy. Will my internal organs suddenly possess a newfound zeal for life, perhaps even start photosynthesizing my morning coffee? Will my neurons, once content to spark in the gloom, now demand tiny disco balls? This unprecedented influx of light could disrupt our delicate ecosystem. You see, Darkness, your presence, while perhaps not 'cheery,' has always been predictable. It's kept my inner thoughts shrouded in a comforting obscurity, preventing them from spilling out like overexposed film. What if, under the harsh glare of medically-induced light, my deepest anxieties suddenly become crystal clear, even to myself? What if my liver starts asking for a spotlight?
So I implore you, my stalwart shadow, consider your options. Perhaps you could strategically retreat to the less-frequented anatomical cul-de-sacs. Or, dare I suggest, could you learn to cohabitate? To become a sort of 'dimmer switch,' softening the harsh glare of scientific progress? I worry for your wellbeing, old friend. You're an intrinsic part of me, a comforting void in a world obsessed with visibility. Please, Darkness, don't just vanish into the ether, leaving me feeling exposed and overly bright. Can't we find a way for both of us to exist within these fragile confines, perhaps with a shared appreciation for mood lighting? For the sake of my internal equilibrium, and indeed, for the integrity of our shared personal obscurity, please, let's negotiate a peaceful, if slightly less dark, future together.
