It’s not daylight yet, but it’s morning.
The litotes of it all.
Just like you smile yet you’re unhappy.
The sky is covered in shades of unfolding blue, with a tinge of orange, or maybe pink, darkness infused with a little bit of light, a little like your soul.
The moon is on the other side, looking down at the occurrences, soon to be buried, like your hopes of ever finding happiness, soon to be put behind by a sun, that brings light but isn’t all that friendly. Maybe your ex was the sun.
This isn’t poetry, it’s a comparison.
You, you’re exactly like what the December winter sky looks like at 5:45 am.
Dull, but soon to be bright again, if you survive long enough.
Maybe you should try to survive, for one more day.
I don’t feel the ache anymore
My chest no longer feels like it is about to be pulled apart by the pain wedged in the substance of my soul
Like the hell lodged in the firmaments of my lungs is about to burst
I frankly never have the time these days to be sad, and that is kind of sad
I’m too busy putting up a front, faking smiles and trying to pass my exams
Last night, an event occurred that should have triggered a bout of cyclothymia
But I was too tired. I tried to think about it; to, like old times, let the darkness surge from the wells buried in the closet of my belly up to the back of my chest and pervade my core
But I slept off; and when I was awake, it was already 7am and I had to prepare for my 8am lecture
I haven’t been depressed in months; I haven’t been happy either
It has just been weeks and weeks of me passing through a loop of just passing through the day
Of just surviving
And maybe, just maybe that is all I need to do
Maybe if I make it to tomorrow, I might have enough time to be sad then
Or to be happy