I write to you because I’m afraid I will drag you with me into this depressing feeling. This is the closest I can come to articulating how I feel. Is it okay to dwell and stay in this feeling a little longer?
I sit. I stare. Into space. Into nothingness. And wonder why my thoughts have run dry. Why it feels like my feet are tied to a heavy rock and thrown into a bottomless sea. I’m sinking. Slowly. Smoothly. Seamlessly. Straight down to nowhere.
I think to myself – how beautiful this feeling is. Is this what the world calls melancholy? I’m so moved and overwhelmed by this feeling that tears well up in my eyes. But the world is uncaring and cruel, so I retract them to where they came from. – from the arid spaces of my heart, from hollow bones, from blood-drained veins.
And then, I sink some more.
It is darker. The darkness grows colder. The coldness freezes my blood as sharp icicles spread rampantly through every nook and corner of my heart. I turn blue. Bluer than the damp grey skies. Bluer than grey! Bluer than grey? What kind of mindlessness makes such a far-fetched comparison? But it is dark down here where colors seize to exist. What is a perturbed, numb brain to do?
Isn’t black also beautiful and all the shades of grey that lead up to the pitch black of darkness?
This coldness too feels warm. How is this possible? Perhaps melancholy is such – like a parasite that sucks every happy memory out of the mind. And I begin to be engulfed and encompassed by this feeling. Am I giving in to it or simply letting it be? See how it thrives on the life of me, on my soul. Like the leech that sucks the very essence of the life of its prey.
It is sad and painful. But it is beautiful and doesn’t hurt.
Perhaps it is my own funeral. No?
I’ll make my home here. In darkness. In a colorless world. In this bottomless tunnel where no one can find me and bring me back to life.
May be I will find my colors and then you can find me again!