From where does my sadness emerge? It does not rise out of an ill humor, nor a black bile within me. Neither is it a chemical in my brain. Its creation does not spring from a weakness of will. When asked my thoughts associated with sadness, they quickly rise, but often after the fact. Being sad recalls times and beings of past sadness, as if seeking kinship in a memory.
I rarely look back in sadness for those I’ve lost. People long gone recall happier feelings for me, or nothing at all. It’s true that the recently lost grip me, especially if I feel disposed along the way, but that feeling expires in time, leaving nothing but odd notions that they never deserved such attention, so why was my attachment so aching?
No, sadness is a bi-product of my joy. Only the people who make me happy touch off my greed for more. Bittersweet disappointment is the only desire I know.