The dry season.

Every day, a million years.

Every breath, a chore.

Every color in the rainbow, stiff and dull.

Every bone in my body, heavy as lead.

Numbness.

An everlasting lump in my throat,

Never set free by tears,

Never resolved by joy.

Long enough had I waited

For those blue tinted lenses to turn rose,

But finally, the light at the end of the tunnel shines before me,

Burning away the darkness that shrouds me.

Slowly but steadily,

Time heals.

The color returns to my pale skin,

My cold heart learns to feel again,

And the feeling of meaninglessness fades away.

For the first time in too long, 

Life isn’t something to simply be survived

But to be cherished.