Melancholy

If I look through my posts, sift through the garbled mess of my half-written stories, I find a pattern emerging. I can identify the aspects of life I care most about, and the things that captivate me the most on this lonely planet...the sun setting over a chaotic Karachi road, a blazing orange disc in the sky, the buildings lit up from beneath with its yellowish warmth basking in the afterglow of yet another sunset, the solidity of the apartment buildings that enclose our rooftop, cutting off the view of the skyline altogether so that all you can see are rows upon rows of bright windows, each one permitting you a narrow view into the room beyond, each one a story separate and distinct from the next, unaware of life on the other side of the wall, the loneliness of the human existence and the futility of the world's many machinations which leads me to God, as everything always does in the end. We come full circle to God, to God, to God. The Beginning and The End. 

Why do all my posts sound so melancholy? But then again, I don't know how a human can be a human in this life and not be sad even when they're happy.