DEEP

I stroll around outside my house and look at the trees standing. It’s raining and I don’t bother because it reminds me of when I went on the terrace while it was raining on my birthday and on the day I was upset and on the last day of school. I spend a lot of time on the terrace and look a lot of time at the sky. I like how it changes colours every minute and people still love it. Apparently humans who do that are chameleons but chameleons are fascinating. And so is this rain. I don’t like going out in the rain but today I just feel like getting wet and smiling through it. I’ll smile through almost everything, make a joke about everything even when it gets worse. I don’t like to but then I’m not about to be looked at as some pitiful men who’s afraid to be sad. I’m not. I’m fine with it. Infact, I am always a little sad on the inside. That’s not an after-effect of some tragedy that happened, even though I’d like to think so. I have always been like this. “Some people are not built happy.” It’s a line from a movie that I can’t remember the name of. There are always reasons why I’m upset and no reasons to be happy. I know how ungrateful that sounds; the inner optimism kicks in when I say things like that. But I have reasons – I hurt easy (but I also heal easy), I miss someone, someone said something minutely crafty, I ask something from the Universe and don’t get it or I just have a negative feeling nagging me to not do anything all day. I still get up and write about how I can’t write. And after that, all the bad things don’t seem so bad. They subside into a tiny corner of my head and drive themselves under the metaphorical rug where I keep all my tears. The rug is soaking wet. (Cont.)