Melancholy

A bit more of a vulnerable one but lately my journal entries have started to sort of turn into free-verse poetry...

Melancholy is what I call her. 

She’s an old friend. 

One I’ve had for a while. 

She freezes your blood like ice, 

But warms your insides at the same time. 

She’s cruel and calculated, 

Yet familiar and addicting. 

Sometimes I forget that I know her. 

I can live my life without speaking to her. 

But every now and then she stops by, 

To remind me how close we are. 

How close we’ve always been. 

She was always there for me when others weren’t. 

Someone who listened without judgement. 

She often validated my thoughts. 

Nurtured my feelings. 

I’ve tried to describe her to people. 

But words just don’t come to mind. 

She’s indescribable. 

There is no one like her.