Melancholy, I can embrace

Filled up on bowling alley pizza and seven pints of Blue Moon, it is 2 am. My mister is asleep in the middle of our bed; the mattress was a gift from my dead aunt. It’s the couch for me tonight, and I prefer it. I’m into the whiskey now, and I won’t put head to pillow until I’ve finished the bottle taking up too much space in the freezer. I don’t even feel drunk, and that bothers me. It’s Sunday morning, technically, and I’ve been drinking since 5:30 Saturday evening. My mother is an alcoholic.

What I’m feeling this moment–what I have been feeling every waking moment lately–this isn’t melancholy. Melancholy, I can embrace, because melancholy is fitful.

This isn’t melancholy. I know exactly what’s wrong with me, and I fear it won’t ever leave.






  1. Melancholy has a sweet, transient flavour to it. For me, a loss of faith in life came slowly and settled deep inside my bones. But I have also found that it’s the place where a wild kind of creativity is born, something deeper and more beautifully human.
    ๐Ÿ’• Sending hugs galore ๐Ÿ’•

    Liked by 1 person

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