Sometimes sadness just wants her time, her due. She requires respect. She doesn’t want to be shoved aside as though she doesn’t matter or has nothing to say. She is not inclined to behave wildly to get attention, she simply crawls up out of her cave in the heart and sits there. My words and thoughts mostly disrupt her, she just needs to be heard. She appears to be on a mission and have some purpose.

It occurs to me that when sadness is suppressed she becomes like a madwoman in the attic that haunts and rattles the house day and night. If invited to come in and stay awhile, she retires gracefully after her visit. I’ve been sitting with her today. She’s been telling me stories about the whole world. I’m ok with this, but I won’t mind if she retreats back into her cave tomorrow. I’ve got work to do.