Some days I want to devote myself to being sad.
Does that fit the definition of melancholy? It should.
I find something so beautiful in a rare day devoted to sadness.
And I love the word melancholy.
To read the poetry that is heavy with longing and loss. For instance, Tonight I can write the saddest lines by Pablo Neruda. I really love Neruda. Or read The Book Thief by Mark Zusak again.
And then to watch Little Women so I can cry when
And then maybe stare out the window for a few hours and ponder the wreckage of my 20's while wishing for mood weather. A gunmetal gray sky and drizzling rain.
Or maybe a dark ominous thunderstorm and a copy of Wuthering Heights.
Or a stealthy snowstorm and a cup of something warm and a puzzle and Beethoven's Symphony No. 7 in A Major. Possibly the saddest classical composition I have ever heard.
Maybe it's not so much sadness as it is the desire to hibernate and engage in lonely activities.