melancholy is beautifully comforting. it is the comfort of understanding that it cannot get any lower; that no matter what happens in life, it is always there for you.

melancholy is a sadness that is undefined; one that is limited by imagination. it is a soul’s search for the part that is missing in every one of us. the search is directionless, and there may never be an answer to it. this creative pursuit of finding the missing piece conditions me to find beauty in the mundane and to feel deeply in the shallow.

being in melancholy is walking down a foggy, endless forest with no path and no compass. the lack of direction erases clarity. the quietness amplifies one’s inner voice. the fog blinds one’s sight of the future. it forces one to stay in solitude and to confront themselves.

as i traversed the forest aimlessly, a faint image of a house emerged. “is this the destination?”, i asked myself. as i got closer, i started to feel the warmth emanating from the house. a kind lady opened the door and invited me for dinner.

i laid on the bed with a full stomach. i closed my eyes as my mind took me to another dimension. in the alternate dimension, i would be living happily with the lady in the house we called home. i felt comforted. i felt understood. i thought the endless walk was over.

when i opened my eyes again, all i saw was the suffocating fog outside. i was no longer on the bed. the comfort and happiness i thought i found disappeared overnight.

the eternal melancholy, i am back in. i shall never be lured in by the illusion of comfort again.