Melancholy by Manasi

Seas and oceans. Does it matter? It’s all the same anyway – the monochrome blue, the earl grey with a stain of sorrow, and the frothy slush that clashed against itself to cease into mist.

The cascading rocks, jagged to the core pierce more than the thin screen of her skin.

And she expects her emotions to rain down upon her, yet, she is held victim to a drought, shielded by a thunderstorm wavering on strings of special effects.

Calm like the sea below her, exploding like the tiny particles of rock around her. She wants to capture emotion and enclose it – fold it – engrave it into her mannequin of a body – but instead – she merely watches as puppet strings force her mouth open, as that moment escapes. Hoping that inspiration would seize her in its wings, she waits. For many days and nights, for many moons and sunrises. It never comes to take her away – it is a different frequency to her, living around her but not compatible with her mind.

The temerity to become creative would never come, she had convinced herself.

She observed two red boats coming together in the narrow ocean, yet out of all the infinite possibilities and impossibilities, they merged into one another. When they overlapped and emerged, they didn’t change color, instead they dissolved into the murky depths of the water, connoting loss in the different layers of the ocean, the different layers of her mind.

All of these layers, each and every one of them, were as thin yet detailed as one another. Fixed on top of each other, bound like an onion by the threads of nature, ready to be cut and to irritate the sense organ of others. The entrance of too – brilliant dazzling sunshinea that only others could experience. What was she, the onion or the other being? In the state she was in, she was neither.

Her own silent screams resonated within her, and the echoes after echoes bouncing off her empty self created some type of syncopated rhythm that she could pinpoint – but it was syncopated, impossible to pinpoint. When all these syncopated rhythms clashed with each other to create a polyrhythmic result, the frequency became altered, which was scientifically unspoken of, but the underlying reality in the mist she was shrouded in.

Even when she tossed all these fragments together, they didn’t fit, as they weren’t meant to be. Her jigsaw puzzle seemed to disintegrate every time she glued it together with her emotions. But ah, there were none.

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