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clouded
Today,
the sadness slid in like fog—
not sudden,
just there.
Heavy without being invited.
I sit with it,
ashamed,
like I’ve broken something sacred
by feeling low in the presence
of someone so bright.
She laughs like clear water,
touches my hand like forgiveness—
how can I ache
when she exists?
But the ache doesn't check who I love,
only who I am.
It loops.
A guilt for feeling,
a guilt for hiding,
a guilt for being too full
or too empty.
And she—
she deserves someone who doesn't cloud over
on quiet afternoons.
Doesn’t fold into themselves
for no good reason.
Copyright ©
Shay Old
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