Lover of Melancholia
I walked into the arms of melancholia,
I looked back one last time–– seeking home.
I saw colours, heard chatter and felt pain
till it was too much to bear.
Only later did I realise I'd looked for home all wrong.
I let myself to drown into the cool depths of melancholia.
I cannot say when it happened.
But I fell in love with it:
the solitude it offered to me,
the softness of silence,
the unconditional acceptance.
Now––cheery crowds: just an annoyance,
judgemental ladies: my worst nightmares,
fitting in: an unneeded hassle for naught.
I stayed in the arms of melancholia,
never wanting to leave the solace it offered.
They looked at what they thought to be a train wreck.
But I'd never felt more alive.
Yes, I am a lover of melancholia.
And I wouldn't change it for anything,
for it is where I found and healed me,
And it is yet to let me down even once.