as time goes on i only find comfort in my sorrow, no matter how old.
ill find a song or an image that resonated with me at a younger age and find myself enamored, almost excited that my sorrow is so well rounded, so deep and rich, that when i look back at what made me happy I could only find my old naivete poking through.
my sorrow, my comfort, are both rooted in the same search for truth, whether it be about myself, something else, or the world. i do not care about escapism, as it only ever prolongs pain, like keeping a loved one on life support. it is an ordeal to crush my overwhelming sorrow into a small box but stretch what little joy i have to the sorrow's true proportions
a retrospective on my sorrow makes me feel whole, like an important aspect of myself was solidified early on. a retrospective on my joy makes me cope, finding all the reasons why whatever it was made happy beforehand so i can explain myself.
