It was raining. He sat in a corner, surrounded by the dark, being smothered by the despair in the circumambient air. His eyes were weary and tired and tinged with an eerie red; he could barely keep them open just enough to see the raindrops languidly roll off his windowpane. Yet, he watched. And as he did, his train of thought slowed down, sputtered and died. It ran out of gas, stopping dead in its tracks. There was nothing except the patter of the rain against his windows, and the patter of emptiness against his skull; his heart; his ribs.
Why wasn't it okay to be sad? He thought. Why was it such a bad thing. Oh, god forbid you be sad. Swallow it up, suck the tears back in, no. You should be smiling, even if its fake. Even if you have to wear a mask. Even if you have to paint it with the hardened blood you borrowed from your slitted wrists. No, god forbid you be sad.
He just couldn't understand. Why did god allow for this emotion to exist then? If it was such a despicable thing to cry, to weep, to grieve. It should be okay to be sad sometimes. It should be okay to cry until you've emptied the flood inside your lungs that made you feel like you've been drowning for days. It should be okay to sit in the dark sometimes and watch the rain roll of your windows. It should be okay.
After all, the sky cried too. Like it was doing right now. It wasn't just crying. It was screaming and shrieking in its thunderous voice, hurling lightning at the earth. It was letting out all the rage and hurt and pain it kept hidden all those days when it shined and caressed your face with gentle breezes.
So it was okay for the sky to break down. It was okay for the sky to shed gallons of tears. So why wasn't it okay for humans to do the same? It should be.
Humans were much more fragile and broken anyway.
YOU ARE READING
Acedia
Poesía[ A c e d i a : ennui ; state of torpor or listlessness ; spiritual apathy ] Poetry attempts / Random thoughts / Musings (P.S. I'm not very good at this, don't expect too much. Thanks)
