Child of sadness

I am the child of Sadness, raised in a house where Guilt was my mother too proud to admit I was a mistake, and Anger, my father, whose love came in loud storms that broke the furniture first.

Hope is my grandmother her voice like a hymn sung from another room, too far to hold, but close enough to let me sleep at night. Despair is my grandfather he plants wilted flowers in the garden, watering them with silence.

My eldest brother is Fear, always standing at the door, peeking through the keyhole, telling me the world outside is sharper than knives. My sister, Joy, visits once a year arrives in a yellow dress, leaves before the tea cools.

Love is my no-one and my everything. We grew up together, but she changes her name every time I meet her. Jealousy is my uncle he wears expensive shoes that squeak, and complains that my shoes fit me better.

Regret is the sibling I share a room with we sleep back-to-back, and sometimes I forget whose sigh is whose. Loneliness is the family pet it follows me everywhere, even when I’m sure I didn’t feed it.

My best friend is Silence- we met in a crowded room, shook hands without a word, and decided to haunt each other forever.

I once loved a woman named Curiosity. She wore maps as dresses, and kissed me like she was checking if my soul tasted of the places I’d never been.

I’ve had tea with Betrayal- a charming guest, until you realize he’s sipping from your cup and feeding your secrets to the sugar bowl.

My boss is Ambition- shiny suit, sharp teeth, makes me climb ladders so high I can’t tell if the wind is applause or warning.

I’ve danced with Failure in an empty ballroom, our feet making echoes that sounded almost like applause.

I am the student of Time- he is cruel and kind, a professor who gives no lectures, only deadlines.

I’ve argued with Hope at 3 a.m., both of us drunk on “maybe” and too stubborn to sleep.

And when the day ends, I go home to Loneliness she’s not cruel, she just takes up space in my bed and hums lullabies in a language I almost remember.

And yet, in the middle of this messy, loud, beautifully broken family I remain. Not knowing if I am heir or orphan, blessing or accident, but still passing plates at the dinner table, still laughing at jokes I don’t understand, still pouring water for hands that once hurt me, still saving a seat for the ones who never come home.

Because in this house of ghosts and gods, we are all bound by the same blood spilled or shared and I, the reluctant child, have learned that leaving is easy, but staying… staying is its own kind of courage.