Melancolia

A day, some day, a sunny spring day perhaps. Either way, 24 painful hours, 60 murderous minutes within every hour, 60 boiling seconds within every minute. Time itself, a cauldron of fire that cook’s my heart and all I thought was right. I blame you father Time. You never understood the agonizing pain which I go through every day and every night. To you, it’s always raining. Every cloud is grey. The sky thunders. But still, you never seem to try and overcome that. Sometimes, the sky opens up, and you can hardly feel the pain, but soon night will come again and again. I confess that every day my hopes of a cloud free spring decrease. My heart is shattering, and it won’t be long before it breaks… Tic Tac, Tic Tac..