I stepped outside in my gloom fuzz,
With black clouds strapped to my back.
I even grimace at children nowadays.

On the path to my mailbox,
Hunched over myself,
Eyes chained to the pavement,
I felt the urge to glare at the sun
And witness as it glared right back.

A sunbeam of empathy,
Drooling light into my bruises,
She slapped me with her
Warm-honey white palm,
And for the first time this year
I'm glad to be alive.