Sadness has a heartbeat, too.
Slow, gentle, and aching.
Listen carefully,
profound wisdom is hidden in that rhythm.
It doesn’t scream like joy
or shout like anger.
It simply beats.
A soft pulse beneath everything,
a quiet companion that walks beside you, barefoot.

Some days,
it hums in your chest like a lullaby.
Not to soothe, but to remind you:
you are still here.
Still breathing.
Still feeling.
Still human.

It echoes through the hollow spaces,
where laughter once lived,
where dreams once sang.
It curls up in the silence,
folds itself into the pause between thoughts.

But if you sit with it.
Not to fix, not to flee,
you might hear its language.
Not made of words.
But of memories.
Of unmet longings.
Of things that mattered deeply.

Sadness is not the enemy.
It is the historian of your heart,
archiving every tenderness you dared to feel.
And in that heartbeat, slow and aching,
there is a strange kind of grace.
The grace of having loved enough
to feel this way.

So listen.
Even pain has poetry.
And somewhere in the ache,
you may find a piece of yourself
you had forgotten was still alive