There’s something beautiful and delicate in sadness. Joy, bliss, euphoria, happiness and love hold equal beauty but there’s just something a tiny bit more personal and endearing about the hollow, cold, heaviness of sorrow. Perhaps it’s the vulnerability- that stripped down bare nakedness the soul feels as it opens to leak itself out through the eyes that appeals to my sense of nurturing and protecting. Maybe it’s the strength it takes to be weak being celebrated by the exhausted parts of my heart for continuing to love through misery. For many reasons whatever they may be, my love affair with the depths of despair is seemingly endless for no matter how much joy and elation may energize my soul and fill my spirit with love there will always be a familiar coziness in the discomfort of suffering lurking in the nooks and crannies of my damages whispering self slandering fears into my ear. Once again here I sit side by side with my familiar frenemy as hopeless, puffy eyes stare blankly into a clear, golden hour sky. I sigh. My guts are heavy as I deeply heave. I don’t breathe, my breath just leaves and I bribe it to come back with attempts at making sense of my realities. If nothing else sadness reacquaints me with gentlest me and reminds me that I’m not a monster and that is beautiful.

Photo credit:

Victor Alvarez ( @victorisaacalvarez )