The Haze

I find that my world often turns melancholy…

It’s a haze that sets in – familiar, so familiar.

It’s ironically in this haze that I can clearly see the ghosts from my past.

I see me, b r o k e n.

I don’t know that a greater form of empathy exists than that of me with my past selves.

Maybe that’s why the sting feels so real, present… dangerous.

But there’s comfort in a haze:

It’s meant to dissipate.