Melancholy
Melancholy is the sweet ache for lost love dissolved in the memory of its suffering Blood pulsing beneath the surface of transparent skin. All it takes is a scratch for it to flow fresh. For we are fragile beings. Resilient, we can hang by a thread, outlive our fears, and make amazing resurgences when pruned back. We’ve learned how to manipulate our world to keep us safe. But a sudden twist of fate can just as easily snuff out the light. Melancholy is living with the knowledge of good and evil. Tasting the fruit, juice dripping down my chin, without shying away, to know my own nakedness but choose not to cover myself. Prefer to stand bare in the whip of wind. Alive, present and attentive. Melancholy is to have found joy in pain but also the twinge of agony on the far rim of bliss. We hold the red hot embers that glow in the night even when it burns...