Characterized by lingering sadness and nostalgia following the recent end of a great story or series.

Athazagoraphobia (Fear of being forgotten) 

Snow falls like anything else. It falls gently, coating the earth like a soft blanket. It coats the ground, burying it slowly, letting the ground fade from sight and fade from mind. It encases it and freezes everything under its deadly clasp.
No one wants to fall. Falling means being left behind.
Falling means being trampled. The snow is always so pretty when it falls. But it gets crushed, turned slowly into gray slush. It’s not pretty. Not anymore. No one wants it around now, not now. People want it gone, so they can forget it in the warmth of spring.
When the snow falls, it grows cold. It freezes your innards, slows your heart. Removes all feeling. All you can feel is anger. Anger at falling. Anger at being trampled, being forgotten.
When the ice freezes, it traps everything under it, or above it. A wall, separating us from down deep or up above. Preventing us from seeing through. Preventing us from seeing clearer. It’s as cold up here as down there. It’s so cold it blurs your eyes. When it’s hard to blink, that’s why. Why the world turned blurry, why black rims your vision, why the light fades, why does it matter that you’re being forgotten? Why do you care? Why, why, why.
When the snow falls, it’s pretty. When it falls, everyone loves it. It’s welcomed, and cradled by soft hands. When it’s crushed, it turns ugly. No one wants to hold it. Not anymore. That’s why it turned bitter. It was forgotten. The ice clouds our eyes, forcing us to let the light fade. When the world turns white, it’s soon to be forgotten.
So when the snow falls, and the world turns white. When the ice crowds, and turns your vision blank. That’s when you know—and lord, you’ll know it—that you’ve been forgotten.

Habromania (Delusions of happiness)

When the snow fades, and the lilies bloom, the sun shines. It turns the ice into clouds, and you can see it again. The blue of the sky, and the taste of wind in your mouth. You can hear little songs from the sky, melodies drifting on the breeze.
It’s still cold, but it fades with the coming of the flowers. The dandelions sprout, and the tiny crocus peeks up and sighs. Sighs from the relief of being let go, given the freedom to dance. The clouds turn white and fluffy and float on the breeze. The flowers sway, and dance. Trees blossom little pools of green. Tiny sprouts to taste the wind. Little promises of hope and hope and hope.
The taste of freedom—found everywhere. The rising of the sun, and the setting of the moon. Dance with the flowers, or sing with the breeze. Lie down, and let the breeze stroke your cheeks. Let’s lose all your sorrows, for tomorrow is a new day. Lie down and sleep.
Then it grows hot, and the flowers wilt, and the breeze turns dry. The taste of freedom, gone. Snatched from the air, removed from the sky.
It goes dry and dark. Black rims your vision. There’s no cool glass of freedom because it’s gone. It was taken away before it ever reached your thirsty lips. Taken away, like everything else that mattered once. Taken like the melodies from your throat.
When the birds come out to sing, when the flowers dance on the wind, it all goes away. When the clouds turn white and fluffy, and float on the breeze. When the dandelions sprout, and crocus peek up and sigh, it all disappears. It all floats away, on the sweet breeze. It all goes away on the height of it. No time to even fall, no time to try and climb back.
When the birds come back, the clouds turn white and fluffy and the flowers dance on the wind, it goes wrong. When the crocus peek up and sigh, and the sweet melodies float to you on the wind, let go. Let go of it all, for it’s not there. Let go, for everything will disappear. Let go of the sweet sweet taste of happiness. It’s delusional, for it will never come. Let go, let go, let go.

Novalunosis (The state of relaxation and wonderment experienced while gazing upon the stars)

The leaves turn red and gold. They fall, like stars. Make a wish, and it will happen. The birds leave, their dying song ringing in your ears. The heat leaves, leaving a pleasant crispness there instead.
The clouds turn dark and ominous, and the fat drops of their blood fall down, nourishing the earth. Their calls rumble in your ears, there are waves of despair, of pride, flashing and dancing in the air. Forks of it, twirling up the clouds in pure rage.
The colors of red and gold, touched with orange dance atop the trees. Their flaming colors—proud against the blue sky. Like flags of danger, flags of war, flags to burn in the night sky. Beacons of pride, of war, of life.
The air is filled with wonder as the cold creeps in. The air turns bright. The taste of fire burns everywhere. Slowly, though, the fire falls. It turns cold and dank. Leaving you, like everything else. Leaving the distant melodies behind.
The dankness sinks in, leaving nothing. No color, no place to look but up. And up, up, up you look. Up further than this. Further than us. Further, farther, a distance away. This is bigger than us, this fight. These emotions are crowding. Look up to the stars, look up to the heavens. Look up, up to the gods and goddesses of mythology. Look up to stories splayed across the heavens. Even they change, even they have wars to fight.
When the air turns crisp, and the leaves turn gold. When the birds’ songs leave faint melodies. When the clouds turn dark, their blood falling, nourishing the earth. When flags wave against the sky. When the air turns colder, and the darkness creeps back. When the ice comes, and wraps you in its cold cold embrace, look up.
Look to the skies. Look past yourself, past everyone else. Look past the worries, the desires, the deaths. Look past it all, to the stars in the sky, and know it will all come again. Cycle back.
This fight, it’s bigger than us. This fight, it’s not worth our time. A fight against time is no war to wage. Look up to the stars. Feel their stories, and taste their sweetness. Look up, and know, know it will all be fine. Look up, look up, look up.