Everything is temporary.
When the somber
Lightless fog of depression
Surrounds us,
We are trapped,
Shut up,
Caged and shackled
To the floor.
We repeatedly scrawl
The same question:
What's the point?
The Fog whispers back,
"Everything is pointless."
In those moments,
We agree.
And then we feel it,
Barely noticeable, at first.
The wagging tail
Swishes peripheral sparks
Well before we hear the barks
Of our own internal puppy
Well before we feel the wet kisses
Well before the wagging tail
Blows away the Fog.
And the Fog evaporates
Leaving its underarm stench
To linger for a bit
Before the light of normality
Nods and says,
"I'm sorry it took so long
To come back.
Would you like a cookie? "
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