The sadness of stories

Deep in the abysses of memory,
Fragments of stories lay mute.
Characters and episodes,
Flung about the chasms as if caught in a storm.

The conscious,
The sub-conscious,
The unconscious -

The memories,
The thoughts,
The fantasies -

A hash of all this
Breeds the storm.

If every second were weighed down so,
the times would never be happy.

But why,
Why the hell,
Do I take the hash to be so depressive?

It might be gleeful,
memorable,
savourable,
favourable,
anything.

Prayers get answered only if you pray hard enough.