There will be some days that you’ll see sunshine radiating within your veins, making your heart glow with so much warmth that you will start to marvel at the rare occasions of bliss. And people would start envying the radiance you are making in every step that you take.
But the sunshine starts to get weary day by day. Slowly, you’ll see the sun shining above you, hitting your skin, but never seeping through your veins. The weariness will start inhibiting the sunshine from moving into your coronary muscles by blocking the channels toward your heart preventing every contraction that distributes the remaining sunshine into your vascular system. Like oxygen running out, you start to suffocate. So the need to find an escape haunts you, you start moving every remaining strength that you have and start pouring your thoughts into writing, wringing every brain cell just to figure out what the hell is going on with you. And people will start appreciating you for the far-fetched thoughts you have poured in to their sheets.
Some days, you’ll find yourself crying, never understanding how the melancholy has crept its way into your system, and never understanding why you are crying in the first place. Your thoughts start to betray you, leaving you with nothing but scribbles and incomprehensible inscriptions floating around and running out too fast. So you start pouring your emotions, hoping to escape the feeling of sadness out of your system; hoping that once you write down your emotions, the sadness will go along with it. But it hurts more than it helps. And people will start applauding you for the soulful piece you’ve come up with.
On the worst days, you will never understand the chaos inside your mind. You’ll start losing all your shit and your energy. You’ll find comfort in isolation, you’ll start losing your interest in everything that once brightened up your day, you’ll find it very difficult to concentrate even on the simplest things, you’ll become a threat to yourself, and you just can’t connect your thoughts and emotions into verses. And people will love you for the amount of abstraction you have dispensed into their artless souls.
You see, some days it's hard. Most days it’s harder. And no one ever knows.
