:(

dear sadness,

Last year you came as a simple love, then left an excavated chest. You came again, a thunderous opportunity, a prelude to a smouldering colonial mistake. I think you’re quite persistent. You keep tunnelling through me, finding new ways to show me how you can turn something new into something familiar.

You are a colour, a hard pebble in my chest, a list that never ends, an old friend I keep around, a hurt that pretends to be a comfortable place.

I don’t know what I’d be without you. But perhaps that’s exactly who you are. A magician that will never tell me if his tricks are real, or if I should believe in magic at all.