i used to think sadness was like rain,
cold drops falling softly, quietly
just dampening the skin.
but it’s more like a thunderstorm, isn’t it?
sharp streaks of light tearing the sky open,
a kind of violence that doesn’t ask permission.
i watch my reflection in midnight windows,
wondering if i’m even real
or just shadows cast by a dim light.
sometimes, i think there’s a universe inside me,
one where stars have already burned out
and everything is silent, untouched,
like a graveyard with my name carved into every stone.
i don’t want anyone to save me,
and i don’t think anyone could,
but maybe—just maybe—
someone else is out there,
holding the night inside
and pretending it’s just another shade of blue.