#1013646 added July 14, 2021 at 5:03pm Restrictions: None
Ennui
It has weight: a backpack five pounds beyond carry comfort.
A texture too, akin to grainy risotto
or broken Béchamel, not inedible
but unpleasant all the same.
A thing to live with and live through,
the third hour of a trans-oceanic journey.
There might be an end;
there likely is an end – unless –
the gods are cruel
(and merciful).
It is two neighborhoods over from grin-and-bear-it,
a close enough subway ride
to suicide to make it worth the contemplation
but not the bother.
What is despair
if not dissatisfaction magnified many times over?
Happiness
a fleeting thing,
quite possibly a mirage.
Even contentment is but a sister-at-arms,
albeit more comfortably dressed.
So it must be fine.
To be
feeling anything
is still to be.
Is there a use in “getting better”
when worse is the mean?
Here
there is no disappointment;
nothing could please.
There
it sits,
old faithful friend,
content in its advantages,
unfazed
as you dabble with other emotions,
waiting.
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