Sadness Never Knocked

Sadness never knocked— it learned the shape of my room, sat beside unfinished thoughts, and stayed without asking.

I smiled in public, like a well-practiced lie, while something heavy kept rearranging my chest.

Some nights, even breathing felt borrowed— as if joy had moved out and forgot to leave a note.

Still, I wake up. Still, I try. Maybe that’s what healing looks like before it learns its name.