Every human walks around with a certain kind of sadness stitched into the tag in the neck of their coat. They carry it like a wallet weathered from use and old gift cards in the pocket poke at the seams. They keep it tucked away like a pressed flower in between the pages of their favorite novel and find it while they're thumbing through for that line about love that they have forgotten. They leave it in the bottom of their shoe and let it poke at their soles when they walk, and, becoming accustomed to it, no longer feel it at all.