It is just when you have been sad for too long, you, at some point, make a home out of it. It is not intentional. It is that sometimes familiarity is as close as you get to calling something home. Like imagine it has been raining for months and You have learnt to sleep to the clatter of rains and to wake up to your window glasses being stained and one day you wake up and there is an icy sun In its full glory up in the sky. And you suddenly don't know how to react. But that is what you wanted once, right?  And now the brightness is just too cheery. Too much for you. And darkened clouds that followed you ever where and it seemed to you then that they were doing it out of pure spite,  were gone and You realise at that moment how much you miss them and how you wanted them to stay. And you try to write about it 'cause that is how you operate. Don't know what to make out of the mess? Just put it out on the page but lately you have realised that no matter what,  your pen won't move and when they do the words that come out are so blunt, so meaningless and devoid of emotions, you wonder if that is how your brain feels. Cause your writings were always a reflection of what you felt and could it be that without all those sadness to fill the empty spaces you're just hollow. Who said that numbness was a relief? for this numbness is driving you crazy and ******* you just need to feel.
When was the last time someone attempted to talk to you or vice versa? How did you start to feel so distant and how all of them have lost their distinct faces and blend into one another till you can't sense a difference. A various combination of expressions that showed concern but never understood. And it is funny how you were dying and they asked you which color of dress would look good on them and you said red. You hate red. And that is how it became too much. You grew exhausted. That is what small talks do to you. So you stopped. Then you stopped seeing point in any kind of talk. Cause they exhausted you. Pointless talk about things you don't care about. You stopped talking. Then you stopped caring. You still loved them but it did not matter. Very few thing did. That is when sadness found its root and spread its wings. You are not going to glorify it. It was bad. The crying into pillows for no reason , sitting still for minutes not doing anything, not thinking anything and then at the end of the night regretting it all over cause it was self inflected. Or so you felt. But then it got better. Less bothersome. It was always there draining your energy but at least you were not crying. You should have known then. It was a sign. That how it,  like a parasite, was draining your energy and once it was done it would leave you paralysed. And it did. And now you feel so lost and dumb. Is not it sad when you want to be sad just to feel something? You realise this. It almost makes you feel something. Almost.