The Melancholy of _________ .

The rain has just stopped; I wish it hadn't. It could have served as some form of company for my melancholy.



Melancholy.

There's no other word to describe my mood right now. I'm completely wrapped and drapped in it. Like an ancient Roman toga.

Just watching or even hearing about it has forced me to drag up the dark and dank past. The dregs I don't exactly want to remember, the ones I chucked to the back of my head, reasoning with myself that it's some kind of phase I've gotten over and done with.

Turns out I haven't. Not really. Not completely at least. It's been years now and I'm still raw, still naive and still vulnerable about it. I guess it won't ever leave you huh. It's always creeping around in the background, hiding from your consciousness, plotting to catch hold of a single crack, a single chance to break through and overwhelm you, effortlessly reducing you to a crumbling mess once again.

But I don't want it to leave though. I don't. It's like an old friend who knows you so well. You welcome it with open arms and then berate yourself later for doing it. You try to shun it, to stay far away but you can't help it. It tempts you to talk, to relive what happened and to wonder what will happen now if nothing had been done to stop it.

Stay with me. For awhile at least. You won't be coming back for quite some time (at least not until I decide to watch it) so might as well sit here and think about the past, the history. After all, it was such a traumatic period; I'm sure we'll have a lot to chat about.


I swear, Utada Hikaru's 'Prisoner of Love' will never sound the same ever again.