The flies buzz around the living room, landing on my laptop- on my skin. It’s almost too easy to ignore them. The early afternoon heat seeps into every muscle of my body, rendering me ‘useless’ for the day. It’s easier to sit around and contemplate my sadness, then to get up and do something- anything.

‘Sadness’ I guess isn’t quite right, but I don’t have the energy to try and find the words to properly describe it. Still, I can tell you what it looks like. It looks like a Tumblr dot com post from those melancholy high school days. It’s aesthetically acceptable eye bags and hauntingly hollowed out cheeks. It’s pointy elbows and prominent collar bones, dusty pink that peaks though all the monochrome. Just typing this up makes me want to put on Marina and the Diamonds- or the 1975. 

Maybe if they hand’t taught me, my whole youth, that my particular brand of sadness was desirable- romantic somehow- a pre request for great art, maybe then I’d have a better chance of escaping it.