a crushing kind of sadness

it’s this crushing kind of sadness. you don’t know where it comes from, you don’t know why it’s here. it’s just a normal afternoon but suddenly all you want to do is curl up into yourself on the bed and let it consume you. it’s just there along with a heavy heart and sometimes, you try to hold it back, you try so hard. you don’t know why you’re sad but also you do, and one might think this sadness is something huge, something momentous. it’s thunder and lightening and crashing waves and loud symphony but mostly it’s just quiet, a quiet night with traffic outside.

it’s this quiet kind of sadness. it loves you, it wraps itself around you and smothers you until there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. it lulls you to a peaceful quiet where your mind is a dam holding back all the negatives, all the dark grays, all the memories, your mind tries so hard not to think about anything in particular because there’s no real reason why you’re sad, right? everything was going fine, right? but this dam has slivers of cracks and the reasons stay back but the melancholy slips through and it’s quiet, so quiet and you’re so empty and you’re so full of passion.

it’s this passionate kind of sadness. it makes you aware of every part of yourself, it tunes you to be in touch with all of your senses and suddenly you’re so whole, so full of feeling. it makes you love being alone, if not lonely. it makes you romanticize this melancholy because suddenly you have words, words slipping through your fingers to tell a story, to explain away feelings and emotions and it makes you so fucking scared that once this melancholy leaves you, maybe the words will too, maybe the passion will too. it makes you listen to those sad songs- you know the ones- and you understand the lyrics this time and you know you’re crying when you hear someone say that you’re okay in your ear when you know you’re not but maybe you will be.

it’s this fragile kind of sadness of averted eyes and i’m fines, of quiet sighs and long nights. dark rooms, soft voices, ceiling fans and forehead kisses. there’s a storm inside you and it’s not the kind that fells trees or destroys and breaks, it’s the kind that makes the cold seep through your bones and leaves you shivering and awake.

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