The gray clouds roll in from the distance, like a storm I can see is coming.
My mind’s eye watches closely, as the sun fades away to nothing.
I can’t outrun it. I feel guilty for not trying.
I try so true to smile, while my foggy brain is lying.
If you see me, please don’t try to help me.
Don’t pull back my shroud. Pass by me, freely.
Your outstretched arm is a welcome sign.
It gives me hope for the warming sunshine.
But the clouds are here now, as I knew they were coming.
So find me later when they roll back to nothing.
~Poem by Mona Tuiles, on the feeling of depression settling in