Melancholic Touch
I walk in a garden of beauty and delight.
The essence and happiness I find from the beautiful lilacs and daffodils fill the atmosphere around me.
They give a bright aura.
Who knew all the simplest things in life can give a hurricane of brightness?
I smell the flowers.
My fingertips brushes against them.
The colors; a bright and energetic yellow; with the timid, mellow color of the lilacs.
They all disappear.
They all lose their color.
The aura weakens.
Disaturated. Turned gray.
Once a blinding mixture, yet now, as pale as a vampire.
That was the moment I discovered that I was the living embodiment of sadness.
Breathing, eating, drinking, thinking.
Everyone, even the happiest will be as gray as the sky when it rains.
Actually, it makes sense.
The sky is gray because it can't handle the pressure.
It rains the tears.
It can't handle it anymore.
So, it pours it all.
Everything I touch becomes melancholy.
Everyone who appreciates me labels me as fun, yet I'm not.
I make everyone sad.
So, why should I even try?
Author Notes: Thank you. Just a factual poem. It's okay if you don't get or overlook symbolism. Nothing wrong with me. VHQNKHOY
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