it is easy

it is so easy to be sad. you just have to look back at a painful memory and you are feeling as if that instance in time has never ceased to be with you. you read a piece which says how painful the writer is or how painful the writing is and you can find your own pain of loosing someone in between those lines. you see a picture of a sad old man and you wonder whether one day will bring that melancholy to your reflection. pain has a way about it. it makes you solitary. you feel you are alone even when there are folks sitting in the next room and friends just an address book away. from where does that pain comes? why does that feeling of solitude take over you? is it becasue the death and misery and unhappiness in the world is trying to balance itself againt our individual efforts to find a smile?