Day 73 Ruminating And Writing

Melancholy

I was never given a chance for joy. I was born in a country that is a harbor for melancholy. Where utterances of pain and sorrow are real, and the rest is nonsense. But when they laugh, they laugh for real to heal the open wound they had bestowed on themselves at birth. The body still remembers all the dark winters, the starvation, the occupations, the war that tore the country apart to kill each other, and the war that almost destroyed its existence. My body mourns all that. It do...