Since childhood, we’ve been taught that sadness is a failure. If you weren’t smiling, you were "broken." If you weren’t laughing, you were "difficult." We were conditioned to believe that being a "good person" meant being a happy one, leaving no room for the quiet, heavy blue of a somber heart.
But as we grow, the trap reveals itself. We are told to chase happiness as if it’s a destination, but happiness is a peak and no one can live on a peak forever. When the inevitable descent happens, we don’t just feel sad; we feel like we’ve failed the "happiness test."
So, we start to live a double life.
By day, we function. We are "mature." We give the necessary smiles and perform the rituals of a productive human. But in the private hours, we develop a strange, secret craving for the very thing we were taught to fear.
We become architects of our own heartbreak. We find ourselves drawn to the wanderers people we know, deep down, are not meant to stay. Yet, we get attached anyway. We "baby" them, healing their wounds and pouring our energy into their lives, knowing full well they are just resting their feet before their next journey. We break ourselves again and again, almost as if we are seeking a reason for the tears we’ve been suppressing.
We seek out the sad songs that ache. We scroll through old chats with ghosts. We don't crave this because we are broken; we crave it because in a world of performative positivity, sadness is the only thing that feels honest. We aren't looking to end anything we are just looking for a place where we don't have to pretend. We are mature enough to know the sun will rise, but tonight, we just want to sit in the rain and finally feel the weight of everything we’ve been carrying.
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