I’m sad at you. (Is that even a thing?)
It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but it’s difficult to describe. It’s aimless and amorphous; it seeks out direction and fails to find a form.
It’s a pervasive, quiet melancholy that comes with separation, a wistful hum in the background of an indeterminately determinate arrangement.
It’s missing something that isn’t gone yet; it’s nostalgia before its time.
It can’t be fought and it can’t be fixed, so instead, I try to frame it. Missing you affirms how much you’re wanted. Fear of losing you is proof of what you’re worth. The sometimes-sadness is a reminder there’s something here worth having (and something here to lose).
Please don’t worry — the feeling will pass soon. I won’t let it rob me of my joy.
Always know I love you (madly), but right now, I’m sad at you.