She comes at night, tiptoeing. That’s what you think. That she waits for you in your bed and gathers you when you come to sleep.
But it’s just that you were not paying attention.
She awaited you at your front door, picking you up when you walked through the door. She comes in with you, feeds from all the joys you would have felt, and, as you crawl into your bed, suddenly weak, suddenly harassed, tired, exhausted, she gets the best of you and wins a fight you were not even aware of. That’s what you think.
But like a parasite, she has been there since the beginning, clung to your skin, feeding on what means something to you.
You eat, you laugh, you pray. In the shadows, she waits for her time to come.
And when you let your guard down, she will reap you with a clean stroke.
You will cry, ignoring why. You’ll cry whereas you’ve had such a great day. You will weep as you are tired of living this way, you will weep how hard the fight is. You will whinge because of her grip on you.
She, dangerous melancholia, will perfume herself to every envy, every lack, every regret to rob you. Robbing you like she controls you. Desperately.
Thanks for reading! Feel free to clap, comment or follow me if you’ve enjoyed it!
Ed.
