shame

I've never acknowledged this. I hate to admit it. I feel horrible. It feels almost shameful. Wrong for me specifically to feel this.

Is it grief? Yearning? I couldn't tell you. I wish I knew. Putting a name to it wouldn't fix a thing, though. It's a specific crushing. But it's not painful. It's the feeling of when someone is about to let go. It sits in the diaphragm right in between the sixth and seventh rib. It's a curious pressure. Like the feeling of hesitation and anticipation for something I know might be waiting behind a corner but may not be anything at all. But I'm too scared to look, so I wait. Making stories from shadows. 

It is like how they say happiness is temporary, but joy is permanent. I'm missing it more and more the more I think about it leaving.

 I think I see it in people sometimes. Rarely. I read about it in books more than anything. I can understand the words, but how much can a colorblind individual know about color? Does reading about it equate to experiencing it? 
I don't know; I want to. 

But it's already leaving. From my diaphragm to my gut. It's leaving me, and I will forget how it felt. I will not grieve this feeling because it will be as if it never existed. I will be fine, and that makes it worse. Must I mourn a feeling and dissect it at once?

It is disgusting. I am repulsed; I am overwhelmed. I miss it already. 

I will grow to despise these words. I will not want answers because I will want to forget. Living in a world without this feeling would be so alone. 

But I will.