melancholia.

it both chokes me and frees me, haunts me and inspires me, breaks me and heals me, leaves a bittersweet aftertaste in the corners of my mouth.

the night holds my heart in the way you used to hold this damaged organ. i remember how you held my hand, unwillingly to let go, while strolling down the avenue. you watched me watch the citylights as we witnessed time stealing our night away.

now the darkness stares at me, just like you used to stare in my wandering eyes. mine were looking into yours, searching for a sign of humanity; looking for the softness that you were trying so hard to hide. i didn’t blame you for your ignorance, back then, but i do now.

my ribcage should be expanding, but instead it collapses. i forgot how to breathe, did i always do this activity automatically? i traded my love for little moments of numbness, but it left me with nothing but memories in shades of grey. now my vision is blurred, distorted by an interference of images of the past.

flashes of faces, little trivial screams in the background, familiar first names on street and stores signs while windowshopping. melancholia invites me in and familiarity persuades me to step inside. this empty, hallow house feels so cosy, it feels so safe. i feel like i’ve been here before, maybe in another lifetime. it’s okay if you don’t want to get involved, as long as you give me permission to unravel your haunted home. because i’m thirsty to feed you with love.

i have this habit, i know, for romanticising figures, for idealising moments that have gone by. but i’m pretty sure i didn’t reconstruct the beauty of your face. this my darling, was the work of an artistic celestial craftsman.

oh, how i wish, to take these rose-coloured shades of my face, but honey, you know i have bad sight without my glasses. i have bad sight when i’m in love. i suffer from an incurable form of naivety as soon as my heart decides to control the steering wheel. silly me, for ignoring all the traffic signs as i drive fast, towards my self-destruction.

4 thoughts on “melancholia.

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