To say that light bends is an oversimplification of being.
Light thirsts for the striking darkness, eternally waving away the shadows in expanding stretches.
Light is stretched and tangled in its love for others, a loneliness as desperate as the emptiness of the opposing void.
Light spreads like an unfettered wind, anxious to fill every corner before waning in the stillness.
To say that light bends is unfair to the ambition embodied in every wavelength, and unjust to the futile struggle faced.
Instead, say light struggles in its quest, never giving in until every last ounce of its being is extinguished and shines no more.