A Sadness That Arranges

There is a sadness that does not wound, but arranges. It sits beside you like an old friend.

Speaks little, and stays. The burdens have new names now. No longer fear of

tomorrow, but care for what remains. No longer the question of meaning,

but of honesty toward one's own heart. We grieve for versions of ourselves that were never lived,

and still smile at them. For they led us here.