A different kind of happiness.

Can you get addicted to the rankling pain of sadness?
Can you find comfort in a heartache and dry tears,
in a sore throat paired with soundless screams?

You tell me that I don’t have to feel that way
that there is help,
but after all I still crave that desperate feeling
that makes me feel alive and greets me hello whenever I need it.

Can you eventually fall in love with feeling lonely?
Because nobody ever understands and knows you as well as all that sorrow?

Please,
tell me,
can melancholia feel like home?