Me and Meloncholy

I feel alone even in the crowd.

I stare for hours at my walls,

Chewing the tip of my pen;

Weaving words in my head to find relief in the blank paper.

I think about the scent of paper,

I think about my sadness.

I think how its existence gives a sigh of relief.

It doesn't hold my hand.

It never tells, 'I am here always'.

I weave words,

I weave stories...

of my life

of my sadness.

I think of faces,

Faces that appeared and disappeared.

Faces I put my trust into.

I think about love.

I think about betrayal.

Tonight,

As I weave,

I don't feel lonely.

I scream loudly.

I cry sadly.

I sigh silently.....

in my words

in my stories.

I feel an existence.

I feel a comforting pat.

I feel a patient ear.

As I hold this pen tightly.