This little book (pt. 1/2)

Just human

Reading through
this little book
makes me wonder
if I’m not
secretly depressed.

It’s full of
melancholia,
heartbreak,
pain,
sadness.

Some pages
soaked in tears
I never even knew
where there
for me to cry.

Scribbling on these pages
brings it all up:
the dark,
the mysterious,
the heavy.

Maybe this little book
is the room I need
for everything
I don’t know
where else to put.

I don’t think
I’m secretly depressed.
I’m just human.

A living,
breathing,
feeling
human

with pain and
sorrows and
heartache.

There has to be room
for that, too.

This little book
is that room.

The room
that allows me
to live
and breathe
and feel

without having to
make sense of it,
explain or justify.

Read on (part 2: A different type of whole).