An unusual friend

I love my sorrow.
I love my sorrow, as I love my tomorrow.
Both are uncertain,
Both have a tendency to creep,
Both pounce on me most often when I am about to go to sleep.

And yet, I love my sorrow.
I love my sorrow, despite the depth of its burrow.
It’s rooted deep within,
And has the terrible tendency to cling,
Almost as if it has no intention to ever let go.

Why, You must be wondering,
Does this fool festishize such a sundering,
Hollow emotion?
Sorrow.
Pain.
Suffering.

The grand trio, who the world unequivocally hates,
With fair reason,
of course,
I do not actively chase,
After them.

But still I love my sorrow.
I love my sorrow, for it is mine, and mine alone.
You may have yours, your unique concoction,
And so does each person,
on this globe.

So how could I not love my sorrow?
My sorrow led me to caverns unknown,
Under the rivers of babylon,
Preparing me for the destined meet,
With a self I never thought I'd have the pleasure to greet.

I love my sorrow.
I love my sorrow, for it has made me bold.
Strong, resilient,
And patient most of all.
Empathetic too, for I see sorrow hanging around everyone’s door.

Sorrow, is now a dear friend,
Who I am certain will accompany me to my grave,
While being uncertain about what else I will have to brave
In its company,
But come what may, I know it too is a shade of your grace.