On days like these, I like to ride the line just before the point of falling apart, just to see how long I can before I do.
On days like these, it's like I'll never see another day without melancholy again. Like the sun will never again be able to permeate the thick layer of fog above my head, softly falling down in wisps around me and inducing chills as they float down to the ground, freezing it upon their light landing.
On days like these, it swells so deeply within that everything in reach brings some form of pain; in remembrance; in longing; in loss; in regret; in shame. It overflows and collapses in great splashes, staining the walls with an unsettling shade and removing all remnants of comfort from the place.
On days like these, I become cold and empty towards those who have been kind enough to remain behind to drag me along, perhaps out of pity, perhaps out of guilt for otherwise leaving my body behind to watch them fade into & out of the fog, while I sit and stare and do nothing and say nothing.
On days like these, I like to, in moments of momentary strength, feel my way out of the hiding spot I'd been seething in, and search around for scraps of joy being enjoyed by others around me. I'll tentatively share and taste it, carefully watching the faces of those around me and mimicking their expressions of satisfaction, almost replicating them perfectly.
On days like these, I like to ride the line just before the point of falling apart, just to see how long I can before I do. I have not yet bettered by best time.
Soundtrack to days like these: