"A dull yet persistent ache, from where I suppose the heart is," said someone. "That's how it feels."
Being sad makes me want to write. Oddly enough. More of my posts are products borne out of some amount of sadness lurking in some corner, than are not. Of course, a rare few have been penned rather gleefully, and those I can count on my fingers - of one hand only.
But it always makes me feel better. Writing therapy, you may call it. You may even write it. (Sigh.) Almost equivalent to the diary I had when younger. I still have it, two of them actually, with a little lock by the side. I treated it like a secret friend, and would revel in telling it all that happened in my life. [It even had a name, but I'm guessing that's one detail too much! ;)] And selfishly enough, as life went on, which it does, I began to turn to the little locked diary only as and when I felt sad. Pour my heart out, as it may be, and even gift it a teardrop or two. But I'd emerge feeling more lighthearted after the exercise.
This blog is what I turn to now, much to the distress of readers, which is when the periodic Vague Post gets churned out :) But thankfully I have the good sense to not confide in the world. By world, I obviously mean the small subset of the small circle of people I know that actually read this blog, and some that I know not.
Confide or not, there is something therapeutic in writing. Writing anything. And I urge you to try it.
Oh, and grief is good. Why? Because I believe it inspires me to write. And brings out parts of me that I rather like. :) That being said, inflicting grief on me may not be the best birthday gift right now :) I still would choose happiness over likeable parts'o'me. Gift me a book or somethin'. But like my friend says, 'Maybe a tear to keep you human.'