Sorrow looks and feels like a bunch of old, dried-up leaves and wild flowers in a huge marble garden. Brown, brittle, dusty, unattractive, maybe a little sticky and mossy. No matter how carefully or gently you handle it, it’ll crumble beneath your fingertips, leaving powdery uneven residue on your palms you’ll feel like stays with you for days despite completely washing it all off. It tastes like cotton and smells like my childhood perfume. It sounds like an airplane descending to the ground - you know you’re safe and you’ll land, but the sound makes your stomach clench and drop anyway.
— Sade Andria Zabala