The problem with being sad all the time is that your face becomes this mask of pain
A mask that people work around, see every day until it just becomes your face
But the pains not you. You are joy and sunshine and that day in the park where you held hands and looked into her eyes and felt so light you might float away
No one sees that you. It’s bound up in memories and minutes found in the present that pass by leaving only wreckage.
As a man wracked by pain, enduring, pushing the pain away takes a pain killer and for too short a time, Knows a life without his burden. Then it all comes crashing back down and what was endurable before is now unbearable. So too is joy to a sad heart.
