In which we describe our sad

This is Saturday, a saturated day. I might describe my sad as heavy sad or heaving sad or heady sad. But it might be saturated sad. Or creeping sad or sad on toast. Any way you breathe it in, it comes out damp and grey and cold. Inhale.  Outhale.  (Can you breathe when I stand this close to you?) It is not necessary to make time or space for this conversation. I wonder why we do it anyway.