why do you have to be sad before you appreciate happy? why does that burning inspiration only come when you are in darkness? why do I fill pages while a knot of sadness sits in my stomach? why do the urges to pour out feelings no longer come while I am enjoying my time, myself, my love? why does happiness stomp out creativity like a cigarette in an ashtray and sadness lights it back up with some addictive flame? yes… the sadness might make you sink low, low, low, but that’s where the passion is. when you are low and you don’t understand, you either write about it, draw it out, paint it into vision, you express it in some way, or you **** yourself. you have to do something with all those raw feelings. what about happiness though? happiness is so bright and special, why don’t I want or need to express that? is my happy less than everyone else’s? why are things so right when I’m so broken? I only understand myself in sadness. happiness makes me question everything. sadness feels like being in love. are those the only two things I can really feel? sadness and love?… the only times I feel alive, the only times I feel like me are when I have something to write about, something to consume me in 4am thoughts, something that makes it all so real, to make me need to get it out and appreciate the intensity in another form.