*Warning: The Artist’s mood was too melancholic to care for the grammatical errors*
Alfred Lord gave literature one of the most bitter-sweet lines ever, “‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” The miserable within me finds much comfort in those words.
She looked into the mirror and faked a smile. Her cheekbone erected to that smile, presenting a soft shade of ripen cherry to her cheek. An array of white teeth uncovered themselves beneath those curved lips and the eyes seemed somewhat deeper and more mysterious.
“A smile can turn the world blind!” she thought to herself.
It was all too much for her. All of it. Everything! Cannot the world see how much she is in need of a crutch for her limped leg? Cannot they see the forlorn creature beneath the smiling mask? Cannot she let herself loose in front of them?
No, for if she could, things would have turned lots easier. But that’s not how it works. If it is that easy, then it isn’t life after all.
She found hot tears streaming down her cheeks. She hurried to the lavatory and there she sat then, wearing her heart in her hands, gently caressing it for herself. Tears made dark spots in the blue of her blouse just like melancholy made in her soul.
The flames of passion burn, but she’s in love. It hurts, but she’s in love. She cries, but she’s in love, and that makes the pain beautiful.
Losing the battle of love is a misfortune, I’ll say, but more misfortunate are the ones who have never known what love is.
Like a candle without a wick, a burning without flame, a dark day, a purposeless life.
Nothing to look forward to.
The free-fall -no parachute.
No one to save you.
No one to look into the mirror of your soul and drive away the melancholy.