Anhedonia

I wake, but still in dreaming.
The light just sits there
a dull reminder
behind a blackout curtain.
 
Coffee tastes
like a vague memory,
music hums
without melody.

And laughter feels rehearsed,
like a scene
I’ve watched times,
too many.
 
I scroll through the world
as if through thick diopters
and I, observing life
from a distance I can’t measure.
 
They say joy returns.
But I don’t even know
what joy is.

Was it a name?

That this is only passing fog.
But how do you wait for color
when you’ve forgotten
what it look like?
 
My smiles are echoes.
My pulse, polite.
It's routine and air
Forgettable.

I exist in grayscale
a name in a list,
a face in a room,
a shadow pretending to be whole.
 
And still,
I whisper to the quiet:
Maybe tomorrow,
the light may remember.