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I must be vigilant. Always mindful. Because it is addictive. Addictive and sly. It creeps up on me, all familiar melancholy. Friendly. Like an old friend softly whispering “remember me?” and the draft warm on my skin. A caress. But it is dangerous. It’s soporific and narcotic, nearly sexy. An injection of sorrow strait to the blood steam, which doesn’t take long to seep into the brain. From there it trickles down to the chest, lodging there heavy and immutable. But this takes  time. To begin, it innocently masquerades as the blues. As nothing serious- just a fault of the light. It is sneaky that way. Drip-dripping little drops of gloom into my bright world. Like little hits of acid, bringing out the poignancy of the mundane. Ironically, making pretty things shine. For a time. Soon enough, though, it is no longer gentle. The sweet sadness turns sour, bitter, bleak. The draft becomes still. The air grows stale. My soft flesh becomes so much meat, my body incapable of holding any heat. It becomes insufferable, but impossible to ignore. I shiver, my heart heavy. I stare at my feet, my brain become so much dead weight. And for this, no reason. No decent reason at all. Just the result of a somber seduction, a lugubrious affair. A temptation by the darkness, and the inevitable surrender, by and by. So this is why I must be wary. Always mindful and ever alert. Because it is always only a matter of time.

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