Mourning of a moronically melancholic man

There is this itch that is eating me up for the last few days. Something is not right, something is just waiting to gobble me up, creeping towards me through that dark door I avoid looking at. That is the door that has been bolted for years for fear of opening up a new dimension of bright light and rainbow colors. The dark door is a strange sight, with the light shining through its sides, corners, tiny holes. Nature has its own way of infiltrating, the solid door I had created with so much of obsession over the years, is now being breached. With her immense force and persistence, nature has been able to even reach places that I had always perceived as permanently impenetrable.

I often wonder, am I becoming soft? Where is that stoic stance I was once known for? Am I losing my identity, my beliefs? Has that ever been my real identity or was that something I had put up to hide myself from the world? I don’t like such questions. They make me think. Think about things that I had conveniently locked up in some parts of my brain, sealed them perpetually with indifference and enclosed them with a cover of loath and insolence.

Why can’t she leave me alone? Why does she need to do this to me? What does she think of herself? Of course, she can, she is the almighty nature and what chance a mere human like me stand in front of her?

But my obstinate streak refuses to give in. I will fight her. I will not let her win. She may be a part of me, she may be inherent in me, my second self, but she is that, second to me, and should always remain so. I refuse to let her command my dominant self, the self I have built lovingly for so many years, the self of a moronically melancholic man!