Sadness Never Knocked

Sadness never knocked—
it learned the shape of my room,
sat beside unfinished thoughts,
and stayed without asking.

I smiled in public,
like a well-practiced lie,
while something heavy
kept rearranging my chest.

Some nights,
even breathing felt borrowed—
as if joy had moved out
and forgot to leave a note.

Still, I wake up.
Still, I try.
Maybe that’s what healing looks like
before it learns its name.