Poetic Melancholy Novels & Stories

Heartbreak was poetic. Whoever said this was a total loon and had never took a journey of ugly pain. Heartbreak wasn't poetic. You couldn't write words on it or even think of the rhyming words because all your mind could see was the intense pain swirling in your fragile heart. It wasn't about being awake late, thinking how to express your pain in words or music. No, it was being enclosed within four walls, and having that ugly cry, and blaming yourself where you went wrong. It was having fun with your friends and then out of nowhere feeling this ache in your heart and loosing interest.

" Raisa listens carefully to the poems that have accompanied her loneliness, as if giving a special spirit to a sad soul. In the silence of the night, my heart was cut, An invisible wound, yet so deep. I search for meaning in every memory, But only find the debris of regret. O my bride, hear my hope, From the fragile remnant of my faith. I want our love to be as strong as coral, But don't let the longing be eroded by time. We walk the aisle of sorrow, Remembering the smile that once graced the face. Tears flow, erasing the footsteps, Yet the heart persists, despite the sorrow. This sadness is like a never-ending rain, Drenching the earth of the soul, soaking the fragile heart. Yet, in every

Amazing. I felt small as I always do, but it wasn't exactly a bad feeling. Small as in part of a greater mechanism. As in amazed by the sky. My heart squeezed the more I look and this feeling settled there spread soaking everything quickly. Melancholy very present now. 'And now the day bleeds into nightfall, and you're not here, to get me through it all-' "You're humming that stupid song again."

The music was both melodious and haunting, its pure and resonant notes tinged with a subtle touch of melancholy. Ms. Jones, a true master of classical piano, made every note seem like it was striking at the hearts of the audience, brimming with rich, emotive depth. Her music drew the audience into its embrace, evoking the image of a cold moonlight descending into the depths of the ocean, shrouded in deep blue sorrow. It shed its glamour in the icy waters, becoming a somber and profound presence. As the piano's melody played on, it gripped the hearts of those in the audience. When Ms. Jones finally stopped, the spotlight above her dimmed with a swift "swish."

"The Greek physician Hippocrates described four internal bodily fluids that affect human's temperament and behaviors. And those four-temperament theory suggests that people have four fundamental personality types. Those are sanguine, melancholic, phlegmatic, and choleric." I look gaping at him. How can he still remember those ancient wisdom being discussed in college? "You were able to grasp the message the withered petals convey. That painting depicts sadness, failure, and heartaches. So, I name her Melancholy. And understanding its message means you are melancholic." "Wow!" I exclaim, shaking my head. "And because you choose the man whose heart is not yours, it means you choose to be melan

"Well, I still have a much too love for the sung words, yes. But now I can certainly appreciate your views of prose. Poetry conveys something different to every single being. And I learnt it the hard way when I try to write one on a person's melancholia, and someone thought it was about the royal stables and how the horses are being treated." Aelanor chuckled. "Yes, that is one trouble I could never oversee. I also find it extremely difficult to find phrases that rhymes." "Poetry is not about their rhyming scheme, my child. It's more about what you are not able to express in words, either because you are afraid, or because words don't seem enough." "But poetry is composed of words, how can t

In which I traveled alone with my car, following a stretch, singularly lugubrious in the countryside, in which finally, It was when the shadows of the night were approaching, I found myself in sight of the melancholy Gardner temple, in which lived a very annoying and irritating lady. What I did not know, but how it happened, but at the first glance I cast from the temple, a feeling of unbearable melancholy invaded my spirit. When I say that it was unbearable, and that was the sensation that was not relieved by any of those half-pleasurable feelings, because they were poetic, with which the spirit that wandered the street usually absorbs even natural images to make them as if they were memori

Bernice cried, "Mom and Dad are gone." "It's impossible!" Dylan exploded in anger. He denied it as he rushed from room to room, shouting, "You're all just pretending! When I left, Mom and Dad were perfectly fine. How could they suddenly be gone?" Bernice shook her head. "Why don't you believe me? Mom and Dad are truly gone. They were poisoned to death. The doctor said that they kept calling our names before they passed. We're not worthy of being their children." Andrew and Sally were the best parents in the world and had devoted everything to Dylan and Bernice.

No one had ever had this much of an impact on me. What more reason do I have to try living? You were my Ikigai and still you are. Everything was bearable just because of you. Now that my heart bleeds in the cold lone night, and you are not here to get me through it all, make it all so hard. What am I supposed to do now? Why is my life only filled with winter and darkness? Why does it have to be me? Why only me? Why doesn't the heavens want me to be happy?

Each setback, each failure, further reinforced the belief that I was destined to be alone, forever denied the connection I craved. The days passed in a haze of melancholy, each one blurring into the next as I trudged through the motions of life. The world around me seemed tinged with gray, devoid of the vibrant hues of joy and fulfillment that others seemed to effortlessly embrace. It was as if I existed in a perpetual state of twilight, caught between the darkness of despair and the faint glimmer of a distant, unattainable light.