60 ml of melancholia.
is all i need to fill the spaces that exists between the paragraphs of our lives.
the quiet afternoon bears witness to the quiet desperation that glows over this reason. this stupid reason.
how did you describe it?
“sometimes there’s this reason.. you have no melancholic power over it. it’s here to stay. even though it isn’t a ruse, a coercion or an unbenevolent act. it feels like a part of you.., like happiness and sadness that slips in and out of your body.”
and what did i say to that?
“and then you try to give a name to this happiness and sadness. you struggle. you fail. but soon you realize that over a period in time it has taken shape of something so beautiful and meaningful .. that you can’t part from it. that reason which you had no melancholic power over.. becomes your sole reason to breathe.. to exist.. to feel alive”
i’m in that struggling phase. and i’m failing every moment.
this time around emotions are not pregnant with words. they are pregnant with visuals.
of you sleeping next to me. fearlessly.
the warmth of your cats on my body. purring away. endlessly.
the motion of breathing – of you and your cats – giving birth to a mute melody
of the kinds experienced by – meera for krishna; king solomon for his beloved.
your fugue. it doesn’t fade.
it only gives me hope, that somehow, each of us will help the other live
and somewhere, each of us must help the other die.
i’ve only sipped an ml of this melancholia.
i’ve got 59 more to go.
care to join?