sometimes i'm sad

i just got done chatting with a friend. we talked a little about love. he told me about the love he'd found. he talked about meeting her family and her meeting his. he showed me pictures. the timing is bad, he says, and there are things to consider. but love is love, right? my story had little to no detail. it's all underdeveloped, undone, in limbo. i steered the dialogue away from myself when my eyes grew sore.

i told him i was jealous and bruised, but also compassionate and hopeful. heartache is heartache.

i said good-bye and went upstairs to eat with my parents.
when my mother passed me the plate of chicken, i speared one with my fork, and plopped it on my plate. then i looked at her and began to cry.

when you have depression, you sometimes forget how terrifying, encompassing, personified, dangerous-- sadness can be.
i haven't cried in a while, and i wondered as i was lying there in the dark of my room, not even taking solace in my cuddled dog, if and how i've been avoiding this.

(my own space, my aching limbs, my wandering eye, my unsettled spirit, my forgotten love. there is more to be done here! i will not--cannot-- stop yelling from this old, dry well until my arms are strong enough to lift me out.)

tears don't always have to flow in streams. sometimes they seep over hours, days, weeks. they're dissipating while you're sleeping or while you're driving or watching TV. sometimes they take this long, i assure you. but the wet on your pillow, your hands, your shirt--it is always heavy and always cold.