You're not hot. 

You're not cold. 

Lukewarm. 

That's what you are. 

Unsure. 

Confused. 

In between. 

It isn't terrible, 

but it's bad enough. 

So bad to you. 

And you worry about the future. 

What will happen because of this.

The future seems dim. 

Cloudy, foggy. 

If only this matter would only go away

like how the clouds part and

the Sun becomes visible.

And everything becomes brighter. 

Better. 

Is the sadness, the pain,

meant to cover up 

all the happiness, the warmth 

once had?

Or is it karma looking for you?

Or, perhaps, what?

You don't want to overreact, 

to exaggerate. 

But when will the torture end? 

When will things be all sunshine again? 

The question is when. 

The question is what. 

The question is how. 

The question is why. 

And the answer? 

The answer is 'I don't know.'