Sometimes this life, as beautiful and as charming as it may be, becomes dreary and desolate for no one's fault but what lies in the heart and the head. Sometimes it takes all your courage, not to mention all the mesmerising memories of wonderful people who surprisingly love you, to not reach for the lustful steel and caress your wrists with it.
But I miss the steel. I miss the smoke. I miss the carelessness. I miss the surety that all this could end, if I wanted to. Not anymore. For I am tied too much to this world now, and love my loved ones too much to cause them any hurt, any pain. Love makes you free, perhaps, but it binds you too tight, too. Its nothing if not a paradox.
I still have the melancholy. It lingers around me, faithful as a shadow, as a servant of the old. Yet there are times when it becomes the master and I end up writing such lugubrious posts. So, let it be. It will pass. Like life does.