"There is melancholy in the wind and sorrow in the grass"
There is a pervasive sense of melancholy to this day. My eyes feel tired and burning and my head feels full, just like I've been crying long and hard. Which I haven't. I don't really know how to write anymore but, regardless, it feels like an answer to the question I didn't know I asked.
That part of me that used to hit "Publish" every day with such boldness has atrophied. I've become fearful and small again. The ease I had in expressing myself was swallowed in the last four or five years of quiet. I've had growth in different ways, and I trust the process of my life, but I'm sad for this part of myself. I miss it.
The optimist in me wants to conclude with something hopeful and light, but the rest of me just wants to swear and curse and tell that optimist that things don't always have to be light and fun in the end. Sometimes, like getting sick from eating something bad, you just have to sit in the melancholy and let it move through you.
Thunderclouds will empty their stomachs
And brother Wind will blow them to another place.
Far away, they will dissipate or morph,
They will become harmless puffs
Or shiny wisps,
Where people dream of bright things again.