“Do you know what sadness is?” she asked.
He couldn’t answer, no matter how hard he tried. A gush of air unforgivingly swelled in his chest, blocking out any sound he tried to make. It was almost painful to move, like he was suffocating in his own breath.
“It’s not describable, is it?” she asked again, oblivious to her companion.
He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t agree, yet he couldn’t disagree. He could feel his throat burning and his eyes puffed, and a sour taste turn on his nose. He feigned a little smile, but he was sure she wouldn’t have seen it.
“I guess we’ll never know,” she thought aloud, and turned to speak with her new-found lover.
And all of a sudden, the little pieces in his chest imploded, and the shrapnels stuck deep within his veins on every surface of his body. An uncomfortable tingle on his eyes and a frustrating trickle went down his throat. His fists were clenched, yet weak and numb. His toes gripped one another and his knees soft as a jiggle. He was raging with anger yet lifeless as a rag-doll. He was so close to tears and emotionless as the walls. He raised his hands to cover his face, but he could not feel the iciness of his skin.
Still, they would think he didn’t know what sadness was.
rustic recluse 