Day 8 "Melancholy And The Infinite Gift"

Sometimes I wake up terribly melancholy, and not because I have some sort of chemical imbalance (at least one that I know of anyway). It is when I wake up impossibly tired, and have yet to raise my daily defenses to their highest point.
I wish that I could say that I have fully accepted the real world and the idea of growing up, but I am a dreamer and somehow the real world's rules just never sat well with me. For as long as I can remember I have always felt as though there was a possibility to change it all, to reclaim the treasures from my past that have been stolen, to recapture the hearts of my lost loves, to bring my friends and family together, to stop the aging process, to stop the world for more than a moment, so I can live in the moment; but the world never slows and it never stops.
Moving. Spinning. Erasing.
How long do I have with what I have now?
Permanence is an illusion, safety is an illusion, does that make happiness an illusion as well?
The mornings that I wake up in this defeated mood that have me missing so much, and in fear of potentially losing more to miss in the future, have me forcing myself through the motions of preparing for yet another day to face.
Will someone call me today? Will she remember us today? Will someone else attempt to reach my heart today? Will I find something to fight for today? Will I rise above these fears and desires today? Will I figure something out that matters today? How high and thick will I build these walls today? Will anyone attempt to bring them down today?
I open and close my eyes a few times to adjust and bring things in to focus, to open them to the darkness, to give myself a chance to find the light switch.
My bedroom door is open, and I don't know why as I always close it shut, as if that will give me some privacy or safety, some protection from the loud world I have come to know. Maybe it's just another habit I suppose...pile them all up high until they topple over, burying me beneath.
Turning on the light, I am startled to find Danbox standing in the door opening. I jump back in defense, and to be honest, a slight bit annoyed at this intrusion. He never wavered, not even for a moment did he show a sign of movement, he just stood there, holding his ground, and with a small ripped piece of paper in his hands that said Smile, you're alive.
My brain still foggy from yet another restless sleep, I at first did not acknowledge what I was seeing with any real sense of clarity; In fact I meant to step over Danbox, but he stood his ground and pushed the paper out even closer to me.
His resolve to send me this message held me fast.
Smile, you're alive...Smile, you're alive...Smile, you're alive.
I read this over and over, and then spoke it aloud.
"Smile, you're alive".
Kneeling down towards the little box man to face him with respect for reminding me of this gift, this beautiful gift, and for reminding me that there is always hope as long as there is reverence.
There is always another chance to feel connected, as long as there is an understanding and respect for this gift...this beautiful and challenging gift.
"Thank you little buddy" I spoke aloud with true sincerity "my trials are a gift aren't they?"
At this, Danbox stepped aside and let me pass.
My trials are a gift.
"Smile, I am alive".