(Still Life)

On a day I woke up without depression by my side, I looked at the aftermath of our time together, I looked for signs that it had been there. There was mess, as if after a whirlwind. There were overdue tasks and my plants were not properly watered. However, none of this fazed me as much as noticing all the produce that was going bad in my kitchen, and the bouquet of flowers that had dried up in a vase - signs of neglected health, of neglected life; signs of forgetting about myself, and letting some other entity take over. Some were depleted, dried up; some were decayed, starting to rot, and some, had given themselves up entirely to an invasion of mould. The perfect sign, I thought, the perfect metaphor for my steps descending into a darkness that takes over.

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