It starts off smoothly,
I think I’m doing it right until
The dreaded question pops up,
“How are you?”
A casual conversation contorted into a complicated and convoluted comma.
This is supposed to be easy. Simple.
But do they really want to know? Or just reply and move on.
Maybe they already know the answer.
How am I?
I’m not okay. I’m not well.
Not particularly sad or happy. simply Existing.

No.

It’s always viewing the world with the darkest of sunglasses
And reaching to take them off, only to find that your hands grab at cold skin
It’s putting your hands in your pockets, only to look down and find that you’re wearing lady jeans
It’s tasting foods in black and white, before the invention of color television
It’s listening to music with dead speakers
It’s being grateful that you bumped into someone because it reminds you that you’re still alive
It’s being more familiar with the back of their head than the shape of their mouth
It’s being self-conscious about the way you said goodbye
It’s a contradiction to everything worthwhile in life.

But..

Waking up and picking a mask from the calendar
Stepping out and being welcomed by the chill of night,
The sun has set without you.
Seeing the innocent smiles on faceless figures;
A sight more blinding than darkness itself.
Laughing because you don’t know what they said, or forgetting what their name feels like,
And -- wait. Where’d they go?

Takes credit for the achievements
Makes the good times seem blurry and far away,
As if they were never there to begin with.
Thrives in depression, gets high on it
Reminds you whenever you’re alone,
That you’re alone.

, I think.

“Good! How are you?”