Both resent and cherish

   A lone bird skims the low-hanging, leaden sky—unseen, unmarked. If I look away, it might slip into true freedom, leaving behind its tether to drift weightless through the heavy clouds.

   There are things I both resent and cherish. The bitter tang of mosquito coils lingers unpleasantly, yet brings back summer's warmth. Clouds drape a gloom that sinks into me, yet their cool touch feels welcome. I dislike the grip of schedules—they bind me; yet, they also carry the echoes of memories. In this way, we live within these contrasts.

   A stink bug clings to the elevator door, lost in some quiet world of its own—or perhaps in no world at all. Sometimes, I feel just as inert, drifting in that same murky stillness. This is the state I sink into when I focus only on the shadows of my own dual nature. I skip going out because I can’t summon the will for makeup, pass on cafes because they seem a pointless expense. It’s so easy to surrender to this stillness, to let slip the thought that something beautiful might lie just beyond this weariness.

   And I sigh, releasing the weight of all that might have been, a breath slipping into the silence, unseen, like that bird disappearing into the sky.