The sadness comes knocking at my door,
creeping through the cracks like cold mist,
leaving me shivering
as it slinks its way inside.
An unwelcome visitor,
to say the least,
and often I want to yell at it,
throw it out,
pretend it isn’t standing there
by numbing myself with distractions.
But the sadness will not leave
until I find all the narrow passages
and winding staircases it’s found,
and I face those rooms
with the sadness by my side,
and sit with it a while,
listening to all the secrets it tells.
And as I sit and listen,
the sadness becomes understood,
and I give it the name of a memory,
and wash out those darkened rooms.
So the sadness no longer lingers
and leaves
until next time it comes to visit and cleanse.
Photo by Adobe Stock/Rebekah
