The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul

A heaviness lurks in my soul. I don't know who put it there. It came on when I was not looking, not noticing. 

It's this great sadness that grows and grows in me for no reason at all; or perhaps every reason. I find myself letting go of life, letting go of longing.

It's weird how I spent most of my 20s lost in yearning, for something, I don't know what, although at that time I thought I did. I pinned my yearnings on things so small, so insignificant, and didn't get those either, because even though they were so small, so insignificant, I was not worthy of them.

I was not worthy of anything. I deserved my unhappiness and I crashed into it, like a train wreck, like a car accident, like destiny.

And now I've lost my yearning, lost my looking to a better day, settled into the greyness of this world, which is sort of blurred, where one day follows another in silent succession, and there's nothing much to look forward to.

Did I reason myself into this state of non-existence?

Did I pare down my life, getting rid of everything, until there was nothing?

Is this all there is?

I wish I knew. I wish I could snap out of it. I wish I could move from this ever-darkening world into something light, something bright, something that fills my heart with wonder, something that fills my heart with colour, something that fills my heart with joy.

But what?

I don't even dream anymore because there is nothing to left to dream about.