A Brief Encounter with Depression





“Your eyes remind me of home,” she says when she meets depression in a dark alley.

 

***

Home isn’t warm, fuzzy or familiar.
Home doesn’t give me solace.
Home is far, far away.
And it stinks of you.
Maybe it’s not the home that has always been,
Maybe it’s because I have been in there for so long,
That a home without you seems like one that doesn’t exist.
I am a fugitive on the run.
Running away from the only home I can remember.
Because the warm, fuzzy, familiar home is no more than a shadow now.
When you lose your home to war, to calamities, to fate,
You remember it with nostalgia.
When you lose it to depression,
You can’t remember it at all.




I wonder how home was like without you,
Not as troublesome, perhaps.
But then what do I know?
I am a fugitive on the run.
Running away from the only home I can remember.
The shadows are dark but they are there
They remind me of things…
Alien things…
That are so happy, they seem surreal.
It must have had been a better world without you, eh?
But then what do I know?
I am a fugitive on the run,
Running away from my own shadow.
While others wait impatiently,
Wondering how long it will take me to understand.

 

That you can’t run away from home.
Or shadows.
Or yourself.

 


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