Mélancolie

Loneliness is having a party in my mind again and that’s okay. I am surrounded by souls. Some treat me like sunlight and some treat me like moonlight. I cry myself to sleep and no one knows that the truth about loneliness is that it protects ones heart from everything but itself. There’s a funeral in my heart, and the casket is too small for my childish soul that screams ‘Let me out!’ I want to live without thinking about who will miss me when I’m gone because I’m tired of writing all these goodbye letters that mean nothing without a recipient. There’s a funeral in my heart and there are no flowers because nobody wants to give flowers to a suicide. I wish I can say sorry for being so selfish but that would mean apologizing for the nights I’ve tried to hold it all together like rebuilding Rome for a day—I have nothing to say. There’s a funeral in my heart and I am all alone here with the lights closed because the window might glow and I am not light. I am not light.

Soul Mates I don’t know how you are so familiar to me—or why it feels less like I am getting to know you and more as though I am remembering who you are. How every smile, every whisper brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I have known you before, I have loved you before—in another time, a different place, some other existence.