My sadness is beautiful

Maybe I would’ve been able to talk more about the sadness I feel if I hadn’t found ways to make it beautiful. Over time, it managed to shape itself into the things I love most. Once, it took the form of my friend when I felt misunderstood. When I was angry, it took the shape of my father. When I felt pressured to be perfect, it took the shape of my mother. The things and people you love the most absorb all your love, leaving none for yourself. I swallow the lump in my throat and condition myself to believe I love sadness—that it’s beautiful. I love my people too, they are beautiful.