Sadness does not turn your world black and white; it leaves you standing naked on an iceberg with tangles in your hair and the world too bright for your eyes.
You start to worry that someone will notice but they won’t because they’re too busy watching for their own Titanic.

There is nothing quiet about it, except maybe the holes it makes inside of you and even those seem to whistle on windy days.
The world yells at you with muffled voices like you’re in a labyrinth of glass walls and somehow you’ve forgotten a hammer.

It turns you into a series of nouns, without the adjectives and without the verbs. You become bed, socks, shower, coffee, keys, obligations.
You don’t remember where you misplaced your descriptions, your actions.
Perhaps under the sink with your emotions and Mr. Clean.

You’ll see others stripped bare like you but it won’t matter. They can’t save you. All you can do is lower yourself gently into the water and tell yourself to hold on tight.

Ocean, diver, wall, air.