Unbearable

The unbearable Thing isn't, really. Because if it was unbearable, then we couldn't carry it.

Examining the sadness, looking inward at the emotion, trying to grasp it. As if I, myself, am decipherable. The well-worn grooves that my mind travels, like a haunted garden path. The familiar anguish; is it the same as before? The shadows it casts are different.

It is draining in Its heaviness, but It is not unbearable.