There are two types of sadness,
there is the overwhelming kind;
it hits you in waves,
hard enough to make you forget how to breathe.
And then there is the other kind,
a sadness that is buried too deep inside of you to ever quite grab on to,
a constant aching reminder that you are one too-sympathetic-look away from coming apart entirely at the seams.
It is a quiet kind of sad,
the kind that is dull enough for you to grow accustom to, but painful enough to make you wish to never see 3 a.m.
And I still cannot decide which is worse.