There is a tinge of dullness, like a little yawn, but nothing remarkable, you think to yourself. But, as the afternoon wanes, the sunlight withdrawing from the floor and walls, your forehead tenses, your sensitivity heightens.
Then, The Love Of Your Life touches your hand, your irritability surging, your tongue lashing…
ut, the remorse, the empathy, even your voice, is all a disembodied echo.
‘I’m going to go…’
When you finally sit, you feel it descend, settling into your skull, that concrete grey cloud called Depression.
Your skull pulsates with numbness, like wallops from a rubber mallet.
Over the next few days, everything becomes smothered, blotted to opaqueness.
Sleep is exhaustive.
Your job, life, pursuits, even the gardening, lapse into uselessness, these silly, futile exercises meant to derive meaning from all this existing.
You scroll and flick through screens.
Another week begins, the month nearly gone, but you have no memories, everything like a void shrouded in fog.
As spring sunlight blooms, you recognize a part of you has vanished.
You undo the blankets, attempting to lift yourself from the bed.
Attempting, you smile to yourself.
Oh, and you’ve Smiled.
Maybe, this is the day…