Dear Melancholy,

I feel like writing a letter to you tonight.

I don't know how we met, and on what exact location and occasion, but let me acknowledge you tonight—for setting you aside, and treat like non-existent won't help neither you nor I.

I've been dealing with you these days, and sometimes, I want to set you into fire for you to finally become ashes, but killing you, I feel, like also giving an end to a part of me. I know, there were nights that I've called and also needed your help, especially on those midnights that I was still up, and didn't know why I couldn't fall asleep. I whispered your name silently, and you came to help me cry; because there were evenings I didn't know why I feel like crying, and you were the only one I knew that could help, to finally release such baggage within.

I want to befriend you, really, but not to the extent that we would stay together forever. I desire to get to know you now, to listen to your voice deep within me—because I am aware that I have neglected you enough way back then, and I can't blame you for taking much of my time in the present. I am not saying you are taking a revenge, because what really happened was I have snatched away the time that was supposed to be yours before; and you are just getting what is yours.

You have my address now, you memorized it already. You can pay a visit anytime, but remember not to be present on days when I am having fun with my friends and family. Let me say that that's what I like most about you—you know how to wait until I finally reached home, until everyone's asleep, and we are the only ones awake. Ironic, it may sound, but thank you, for not ruining my happiest of days.

I won't abandon you again. You just want to be free from me—it should have happened a long time ago. But for getting too caught up not to be left behind by people who were living their lives before, I ended up caging you innards my being.

Let's set ourselves free now; I can count on you, I know.

—
© Hamas Saqi