Apricity

You grow so used to being sun—

Rays of hope,

Giving hope,

Being hope.

Then one day, you pause,

Look at the dark sky,

And ask yourself:

Am I happy?

Am I content?

Is my joy inherent,

Or just a shield

I built to survive?

You dare yourself

To feel this time—

The quiet melancholy

That lingers even on the sunniest day.

You realize you’ve been giving

From an empty cup,

And now there’s a hole,

Bleeding sadness.

How can coldness radiate from the sun?

When did its warmth

Become a frozen ball of light?

How do I find warmth

In this endless winter?

Where do I search

For my happy pills?