If I were to believe that we are here for a reason, a mission, mine would be to feel all the sadness of the world.
Chicago is gorgeous and sad.
New York is filled with people, yet sadness sips through the concrete, the glass doors, every leaf that ever turned yellow and fell down in Central Park.
I'd like to think that there's a certain beauty in feeling this way. A poetic way of blues.
Not depression that will eventually void me of wholesome love for anything, anyone,