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poetry

The Most Exquisite Kind of Sadness

It’s been almost two years since I’ve felt this emotion, but I can recall it like it was yesterday. It still plucks at my heartstrings sometimes. I think that memory built part of who […]

The most exquisite kind of sadness

Does not exist.

It is an absence.

A void where nothing used to be

And where nothing will remain

It’s a chamber I feel, eating away at my heart

While it whispers in my ear

That there was nothing there to begin with

I can name the greatest time I felt this sadness

And it wasn’t when mourning something that used to exist

I did not feel those exquisite tears fall after funerals

Nor in between goodbyes and good lucks

The sadness came for something that never was

And never will be

A sadness written out in paragraphs and poetry

So long the Iliad looks like a pamphlet

And a comedy

I still feel this sadness sometimes

Because I still keep pursuing those memories

And you can’t remember something that wasn’t there

And you can’t feel what didn’t exist

And you can’t love when they didn’t exist

When he was never there

And today, I write about the most exquisite kind of sadness

Even though it’s an absence

***

It’s been almost two years since I’ve felt this emotion, but I can recall it like it was yesterday. It still plucks at my heartstrings sometimes. I think that memory built part of who I am today, and although I believe life would be easier without it, I think there was definitely something learned from that time.

By griffalice

A poet, an artist, and an explorer.

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