"I am depressed."

And then I get hold of a book in my bag, open it, and plug in my headphones.

Because depression is the new black, and people are loving it ardently.

Because it is an escapade, just like love.

It assures people around you that you've fallent into the pit,

And nothing could save you.

Maybe few advices at primary stages

But once you delve deeper, there's no coming out.

Because people talk to feel important, not to listen.

Because it is better to memorize the lyrics of the song playing on a loop

till they start mixing with your blood in your veins.

Atleast they're neutral, they don't poison your mind, heart and soul

like the words of people do.

Because books are the easiest doors to Narnia, or whatever you would like to call

your own wonderland.

The doors in reality are only shut on your face

if you term yourself "depressed".

Because you're an omen for the overtly social, hip life

people love to follow

posting flashy paparazzi on Facebook.

And here, you see them peeking through your newsfeed

reassuring the amount of depression

present in your life.

Because I personally feel

if depression is a disease that cuts me off from being a part of the herd,

I wish it to be an epidemic.

Or wait, I guess it is transforming into one.

Because many herds out of the larger one,

do not intend to be conglomerated.

They breach the boundaries, establish their island.

What sight it would be,

people connecting to each other

through words in the leaves of books

and the lyrics of the twenty-third song of one's playlist

which might be seventeenth for another.

"Penguin classic No.43",page no.32,

did someone decipher his depression as coherent to mine?