Grey day,
Perhaps rain, perhaps snow.
My inner landscape matches my outer landscape perfectly.
Confusing, right,
Days like these, depression comes easy.
And my husband’s drugs in the fridge and closet call loudly to me.
I do not succumb.
But I want to, sometimes.
Sadness,
Rain streaming down my window panes,
Match tears dripping down my cheeks,
Catching on my glasses, crusty with salt,
Falling on my neck and slipping over my collarbone.
Cold, true,
I don’t bother to sop them up,
More where those came from,
And I don’t want to.
Depression,
Feels black, not in a good way, like a classic little black dress,
Like quicksand, tugging at my feet,
Making it hard to move.
Love is the antidote,
Simple, perfect,
Harder to come by than before,
When my husband’s warm back snuggled up against mine.
Yet I love and am truly loved,
Grateful, healing and finding my way,
Even as the rain beats on my window panes,
Again.
