We nurture our sadness
and nurse it through its complete fruition.
We tend to it with both our hands
and caress its melancholy with restful rambles under our breath.
So much,
it lurks at every corner of our memories,
paints the most bittersweet masterpiece of disconnection.
Some days we wake up to its lulling rhythm
that forces us back into our
bleak, blank, banal dreams of the void;
an unfathomable depth of darkness
that comes with a promise of engulfing you,
and nurturing you to death— a vow
of ending the malady of life.
Hiraeth 