I’m not mad at sadness

I have always managed to understand the motives of all emotions. Emotions of animals and objects and colors and places and of you and of me.

I’m not at sadness. Im sad at sadness. It knows nothing but itself and its duty is still fulfillment even if that fulfillment be to empty a soul.

A mosquito sucks out blood because it is a mosquito. I curse the mosquito. I hate the mosquito. But I understand it. I respect it.

I won’t appreciate all of the things I understand. I won’t accept all of the things I respect.

Love is one thing. Like is another. But anger? Anger is so perfectly prim and proper and precise that to use it on things that are merely being loyal to themselves is to fail to be yourself entirely.

I’m not mad at sadness. I’m just sad at sadness.

My own looks at me and frowns.

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*a less than half draft of something unwritten*