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,
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 the flesh.
even when it burns the flesh.
It
shows in my eyes
that
I’ve walked through fire
to
stand exposed by your side.
Heart
pounding,
face
tilted to the heavens,
hands
falling open.
Melancholy
is to know there are no guarantees.
We
walk together only as long
as
we continue to challenge each other,
a
solemn promise to let go
rather
than hang on or hold the other back.
For
life is too short and too precious
to drag around a bag of rocks,
even if they are beautiful.
even if they are beautiful.
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