Tuesday, February 3, 2015

In Praise of Sadness

Sometimes, it seemed her sadness was a weather system, moving in and hanging around: a low-pressure throb, right under the skin.  

Sometimes, it was a night flower--the most precious, poisoned, unspoiled part of her--her very own neglected child.

And sometimes--most often--it wasn't there at all, not even a whisperful. 

But even then, in the cut-and-dry sunshine, she was capable of missing it a little. Which was its own kind of sadness, though of a sort she could still make fun of.

Because she knew that it was indulgent to see sadness that way--as some cloying root one might suck some life from, just for the sake of getting the bitters. There was little in the way of sustenance about it. 

When for so many around her, sadness was a luxury. A place to stick one's weary feet. The damp fire against the tiresome storm jawing at their scrawny shutters. Better than fear, because it was a lamentation of loss, instead of the anticipating. A hole you could slide into, a falling. Better than not caring, too, because nothing was worse than that frictionless drifting. At least with sadness, there was that bulging blackness at the bottom. That catch in one's throat to grab onto. As if you'd meant to say something in defense against it, but thought better of it, in the end. Sleep was so much easier.  

Still. She loved the word wound

She loved the smoke that curled close to its flame, before being borne away. Paper blackened at the edges. The condensate formed on two 80-proof lips, dripping dripping dripping. 

Wound was a word, then. But wasn't a word, itself, enough? 

So that if it was her own hand circling round her heart, squeezing to the point of soreness, maybe all that was just to remind herself, 

You're alive, stupid. Love it.  

Love the whole damn thing.  


Charles Gramlich said...

reflects very much how I'm feeling today.

strugglingwriter said...

I love this:
"You're alive, stupid. Love it.

Love the whole damn thing. "

Paul (http://strugglingwriter.wordpress.com :) )

Sarah Hina said...

Charles, thanks for telling me. Sometime, I very much feel like I'm speaking to myself.

Paul, thanks. :)

Aniket Thakkar said...

"Sometime, I very much feel like I'm speaking to myself. "

It comes off from your writing all the time! Even in your novels, ever so often, I feel like I'm reading out your diary rather than a work of fiction. And that is a very good thing. It feels personal, raw, and very real. Not many have the talent to make words do that for them.

Like Paul, I loved the last line. It's one of those motivational quotes Hallmark would pay millions for.
Which is strange coming from you, because you and I excel in the great depression, rather than motivation. :P

Sarah Hina said...

This comment of yours managed to work in a compliment AND a jab. Excellent.

Well, sometimes you just have to shake yourself out of the self-indulgence of being sad.

But you, the one of a thousand lights, have always been a motivator.

Aniket Thakkar said...

Oh, I always show you the brighter side of me.

You never get to see the algae ridden floors and cobweb covered walls of my heart... (How's that for imagery?)

Sarah Hina said...

"Cobweb-covered walls of my heart"should be a Smiths song. (Oh, wait. You're too young for The Smiths!)

Next time the cobwebs come crawling, let me know. I have a big broom.