The hardest to deal with are the tears that won't fall. They stay gripping the heart, squeezing it tightly and never letting go. So after you have shed oceans of tears for mountains of reasons the soul is still weary like an old man stripped of all glory. The inside is empty and hollow. Like a gaze that penetrates but does not comprehend. I wonder if anyone else recognizes this texture of sadness when it shrouds their lives. This is worse than losing a loved one or getting your heart broken because at least there is the visceral pain that accompanies these kinds of sadness. Pain is something that everyone can relate to because its almost alive, almost tangible. This barren grief though cannot be described and cannot be named. Empty and hollow, it does not inspire suicide, no, that would have been too easy. This sadness drags you by the hair kicking and screaming to imprison you to a state of nothingness. It does not inspire anger, just resignation and it draws a bleak shade on everything that used to be happy and bright and it stays. Keeping watch, waiting to pounce again and again without warning.