triste.

sometimes it comes in low-tide waves, just barely making my ankles wet.

other times it hits me in my gut and my breath escapes in a gasp, no way to control it.

when i see the devastating drought in my home city, the land parched and raw

or glimpse another photo of a dead child in the Middle East

or see the clouds forming their nighttime dance

or hear the sound of my daughter's faraway voice

when i read the poem that talks of walls in the heart

or see the faces of these people i love when they speak of their work,

or sway to the song that makes me swoon

or hug the friend goodbye, our hearts knocking against the other's.

it is palpable, this sadness and melancholy. it is next to me now, sure as my glasses' case and lip balm and book to read. it is in this room with me, despite the single bed and chest of drawers. it is mine, all mine, all me, and tonight i can do nothing but snuggle down with it tight and pray for the rain to accompany our dreams.