I’m not the kind who wears black all the time because it reflects how I feel on the inside. Nor am I the kind who compensates for the overwhelming fear of being alone by being too cheerful and funny all the time so people would like me.
I’m not the kind of sad who shuts people out because I’m scared that everyone will eventually leave me. Nor am I the kind who clings emotionally to others for happiness because I can’t find a reason on my own.
I’m the kind of sad who would look at you and feel the impending doom get nearer and nearer, when the day comes that you’ll realize you need time away from me. And I can’t argue with it because a voice somewhere at the back of my mind will keep telling me, “I saw this coming.”
I’m the kind of sad who misses you the minute you say hello, because I know that the goodbye isn’t that far off, because there’s always an end to every beginning.
I’m the kind of sad who gets nostalgic about things that haven’t happened yet, who mourns about songs that get caught in between relationships, those that get left behind, never to be listened to again.
I’m the kind of sad who tells myself all the time that it’s worth it, all the hurt and disappointment is worth it if it means looking at you first thing in the morning and being at the receiving end of your first smile of the day. And I repeat it every day to get through another twenty four hours of keeping everything to myself.