Melancholy
“Where would you like to vacation this summer?” his dad asks kindly.
“I don’t care,” he says simply.
“We just want you to be happy,” his dad states.
And the son shrugs and thinks of all the things that are wrong with a vacation; the loneliness and the unfamiliarity, the strange smells and strange places, and being caught somewhere he can’t say all these things.
The murky waters lap his feet gently, and he’s alone on a vast beach writing. He shivers and scrawls out the ache and the alienation, and most of all, the fear that he won’t come back from the sea that sets his blood afire with melancholy.
