it’s the kind of sad
that doesn’t cry loud.
it just sits,
quietly,
in the corners of the room,
curling into the shadows
until even the light
feels heavy.
the kind of sad
where you can’t tell
if you’re tired
or just empty.
if you’re lonely
or just lost.
where music doesn’t help,
but silence hurts more.
it’s the kind of sad
that doesn’t need a reason.
just wakes up with you,
sits beside you on the train,
follows you into class,
and climbs into your bed
before you can even
close your eyes.
it’s the kind of sad
where you drive in the car
and you think you’re okay
until you hear the music
and burst out into tears.
for no reason.
and you want to talk about it.
but what do you say?
“i’m sad,”
like it’s news?
like it hasn’t made
a home in your bones already?
like it hasn’t decorated
your ribs
with every memory
you swore you were over?
it’s the kind of sad
that makes you ache
for people who aren’t coming back,
for versions of yourself
you barely remember.
for a feeling that used to be yours
before everything got
so heavy.
but still,
somehow,
you keep going.
even when it hurts.
especially when it hurts.
and that matters,
even if no one sees it,
though you wish someone would.