I have become the essence of depression.
I feel nothing, because I am nothing.
I am overwhelmed by the beauty of the world after being crushed by its cruelty.
I look around to see humans, but no humanity.
When you're this close to ceasing to exist, you start noticing everything.
Red is no longer just red.
It is maroon, mauve, ruby, and as many different hues as my vacant mind can imagine.
People are no longer people, they become art. I notice every color in your cerulean eyes. Aquamarine, verdant green, with a cobalt blue ring around a pitch black pupil reminiscent of your heart.
As of late, I have taken pride in lacking a soul mate. When two people are soul mates, they share a heart and soul. When one of the soul mates dies, their soul mate dies in some ways, too.
I don't have a soul mate.
Lucky me.