It was one of those days where the outside is sunny and bright, it's warm and everything is lush and green with spots of red and orange and purple. But still you feel grey inside. You wish the clouds would roll over and it would turn dark, to have them grumble at you as if they understand. You have no idea as to why you feel the way you do, only knowing that you do feel that way. And so you can't help but wonder. You wonder why although you want to reflect the day and its warmth, to smile and not know why, you instead conflict with its cheerful tale. It upsets you. But you're more upset over having been upset. Because you know it'll pass. However, in the meantime there's little relief. You try your hardest to enjoy what you can, but there's a peculiar dull translucency blanketing your senses. You fight against the gentle but constant tugging in your chest, the one that pulls you back into the melancholic absence. Like you're faded and drifting, and waiting for nothing. And although it's for just a blink it's enough to remind you of the weight; an only slight heaviness that you can't quite shake. You acknowledge and even embrace it, though you still hope it would make its presence brief.