It was a particularly cloudy afternoon when these photos were taken. There was, alongside the scurried footsteps of pedestrians in muted hues, a melancholy wind drifting pale clouds of gray along. The dim sky brought about a bout of ennui that seeped and soaked into my skin as, sunless and cheerless, lethargic languor lulled me in.

Laziness is the word most would use upon the sight of a red mug on the bedside table, quiet mist, hot tea and all. Difference begs to be heard, however, where there are clamped legs and tired arms, cramped heart and sighing mind.

On days where duty calls and the feeling of an impending thunderstorm looms within, I take the hands of black and compromise between comfort and style. Lace takes center stage on the torso and ankle as a pair of stupidly airy joggers made leeway for the legs.

The look is the visual representation of an internal crisis at hand, a complicated handshake between trying and quitting the blogging scene. There was once a buzz in place of the swooping ennui that consumes me upon the thought of writing and posting. It was once a cheer of victory after typing the last period and it was once a sunny dance reminiscent of an excited baby panda after taking good photos.

Now there is a sense of frustration and confusion, of disheartening lack of motivation when it comes to this and I am left a lump in bed at 4 in the evening, trying to consume caffeine, trying to expel exhaustion. I am unpleasantly reminded of how the things that once was the source of one's light can become one's darkness the next.

The clouds did not leave until dawn the next morning.





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