We romanticize sadness blindly
even if it is not our intention;
we are programed to believe in the
tall boy saving the girl that is wilting like a flower
and the soft kisses that diminish the hurt.
We believe in the coffee
and the tea
and thick blankets that envelope your cold skin
and most importantly: we believe in the pain.
The truth is that pain really isn’t truthful at all
and it fluctuates like the beating of a heart.
We like to think that one day the sting of our sadness
- which is questionable to begin with -
will  be washed away and replaced with the feeling
of one’s hand entangled lovingly in yours.
Sadness is not beautiful,
It is mostly just sad
And I advise you to erase the somber pulsing of your blood
And soak up the pastels that are hiding in your room –
Marinate yourself in every dip of a cloud
And then baste in the laughter of a pretty stranger.
This is all much easier written than done
As are most things