heart ache

I read a quote by someone inspirational that ‘melancholy’ was a waste of time, a hamper of productivity. I wish I could remember what article it was, it was an inspiring article to read and get my butt in gear. But somehow I feel my strength is weak. That my melancholy is not a choice. Its a dull ache in my heart that just sits there like a dark cloud, a weight on my chest, a dark bear hovering over my shoulder. A melancholy that makes me feel like I have no choice but to feel it hanging and that I can chose to ignore it and fight but that it is a losing battle. But maybe talking about it makes it less so. Maybe all my melancholy wants is some attention. To feel bad, to talk about it, to express it and to move on. Perhaps Bjork’s Army of Me is enough of a battle cry to shake awake these heavy cobwebs. Perhaps its all about breathing. Of imagining a place of rejuvenation as Ottawa sees it. Perhaps my melancholy is in trying to forget and put away the rejuvenation of the beauty that Vancouver holds. The breathtaking beauty. Perhaps it is the sadness of being so violently snatched away from my place to reconnect and rejuvenate with God, with myself, to heal within the ocean and mountains. Perhaps I can negotiate a peace that rejuvenates from the cold merciless beautiful winters to come, from the mild beauty of parks and tamed nature, from the green, the many waterways and farmland, from distant memories, from faith in myself, and not the external


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