An inherent sadness that cannot be cured by simple means, a sadness that lingers from morning through noon and then til night. The sadness that comes from a tender heart and a fragile mind, as well as the desire to be touched but, at the same time, the fear of just that.
It is the sadness of a vase without flowers or a glass without water. It is a bed stripped of its sheets, a frame with the picture missing. This is the sadness that causes an aching in the bones and weighs down heavily upon the mind. It is a veil that cannot be lifted, which lends a soft haze to every day and obscures the very things that are the most beautiful.
This is the sadness that makes one question why they exist.