If you like reading poems, here‘s a poem about melancholy. And enjoy this post.
Sometimes there is that sudden melancholy that washes over me. It could happen when I’m dancing to the rhythms of my favorite songs or it shows up when I’m laughing so hard that the muscles of my face ache.
I don’t know why I feel like that, or when it decides to show up, but I know during those times I want to be alone. As if I don’t want to pass on or spread the negative energy that I’m sensing. I want to be on my own and to do nothing in particular. Sometimes I just lie down and stare at the ceiling. Thinking about nothing and everything at the same time. When this happens, I suddenly shut down and become someone else. Overall, I don’t dislike it. I think that I am used to it to a point where I don’t mind it. But it does make me detest all sorts of communication, whether it’s through phone calls and messages or being around people physically.
I read somewhere that Victor Hugo once said “La mélancolie, c’est le bonheur d’être triste,” which means “Melancholy is the happiness of being sad.” And I do believe that there is some joy in feeling melancholy. There is something poetic about it.
I suppose one of the inspirations of artists is to be in a melancholic state. To romanticize that sorrow we feel. That feeling that seems as if it will stay forever. And although its hug feels tight and shatters my heart, it doesn’t bother me. Because if not for sweet melancholy, how else would I find joy in sadness?
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