We sit in the void's cocoon on the precipice of emergence
I’ve been crying at work nearly every day for the last month. It’s been an inconsequential moment of my life, mirroring the depression switch that went off in my brain when I was thirteen. It was the last month or so of eighth grade. I remember sitting in the audience of our empty middle school theater on the opening day of our “senior” show. I cried like someone I loved had been shot in front of my eyes, all silent and shell-shocked. I carefully swiped away tears while an air of melancholy I couldn’t describe loomed over me. In retrospect, I was probably grieving. It would be the last time I…
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