To the Humble Man

And when melancholy starts to seep deep into your bones, when the yearning for love digs into your flesh like a silent hunger, that's when you know - it has slipped away. And with it, a part of the world has vanished, the version of reality that only existed while it stood beside you.

Don’t weep for it.

Weep for yourself.

Weep for the version of you that truly believed it could be the exception. That if you loved enough, loved until it bled, maybe the law of decay would leave you untouched.

Weep, for it’s the only thing that binds you to life now.

Feel, for only then do you truly exist.

Despair, too, is a form of life  though most turn away from it, like something too shameful to face. But you - you stay with it. Look into its eyes. It speaks the truth that others refuse to hear

Author's Note

This is not a poem in the strictest sense, but rather a manifestation of my melancholic reflections on life, framed in lyrical prose. Take it, and eat — for this is my body, my soul, offered in these words or do not, for in the end, none of us will ever be full.