Sometimes nothing seems worth it. The effort of just being alive feels uphill, a trivial and exhausting survival, stuck in a maze of dead ends. Working- for what? Carrying on- because what else?

Melancholia can sink like lead into your femurs. Bitterness, an actual taste, not just allegorical. Anger, a palpable flush in your cheeks, pale and lifeless without it.

And then…

Sometimes.

You get a lil tipsy on a dock.

You steal a jalapeño from your cousin to add to your margarita.

You flirt a little (ok, a lot).

You attempt a line dance, because Beyoncé made them cool again. You fail.

The sunset isn’t spectacular, but aren’t you glad you were around to see it.

Sometimes…

That’s how the weight lifts.