It’s been six months. Half a year. At 12:32 am half a year ago, I was still happy. A little concerned, but happy. I was sleeping, dreaming sweet dreams. Unaware of my world about to slip out from beneath me. A world I thought was solid as stone. But I guess even stone erodes.

As June 15 progressed, I was unsettled. Yet I was still secure in my world for a few hours. Ignorance is my middle name.

But then as I wept on my bed in my blue dress with the white polka dots, (a dress I had bought that day) I felt like my heart had swelled and shrunk at the same time, and I felt like it had fallen out of me, too, left behind in that white Nissan Altima where so many memories had been made.

You look up and it’s been half a year. You’ve been sad all this time. Wretchedly sad, quietly sad, happy sad, alone sad.

Sadness is a strange disease. It’s more like a cancer, like a tumor that spreads through your whole body. Traveling through your blood. Each day is long, and hard, and you cry, and hate everything and everyone, and it all goes so slowly.

Half a year though. Six months already. And you realize it’s gone pretty fast, actually. But yet it still seems like just yesterday.

I don’t think anyone is ever healed from the cancer of sadness. It lives within you from birth, it’s triggered by something in life, and it grows from then on. Maybe not continuously. Maybe there’s a point where it stops growing because something is better.

Or maybe I’m just depressed. Maybe I’ve just gotten used to the sadness.

Either way, I know that true happiness is what I miss the most.