The sun is setting at UCL’s main quad.
One of the first days of spring in this noisy city is coming to an end.
Sitting on Portico’s stairs, the building pride of the whole university, looking at people smoking and chatting and looking at their screens, I wish I had my book so I could sit here and read until the sun goes down for the day.
All this is cheerful even if I’m not.
But it’s fine, because I don’t see cheerfulness as a threat.
Seasons pass, and so will this. Whatever it is this time.
I am self destructive, but so are phoenixes.
There is an end to it, and always a new beginning.
Being a “depressive optimist” derives from this very fact.
One way or another, this too shall pass.
I only hope to be moderately sane to welcome it, when it happens.
Depressive Optimist 