Beautiful side of sadness

I was walking with my brother the other day and we were looking at some window displays of clothes. He pointed to an outfit with a white long sleeved polo shirt topped with a black V-neck sweater or pull as they call it here in Geneva. He said, “Ate, that matches you. Black suits you,” he said. I asked, “Why?” He said, “You know the beautiful side of sadness.” Taken aback by such a poetic expression of the appreciation of gothic living, I asked him to explain what he meant. He said, “It’s like those people who wear black know what is behind sadness. Like there is always a silver lining behind every cloud.” He said of himself, as he is a dark-donning adolescent man, “It’s like asking why do sad things happen, there must be a reason.”

This was coming from a 15-year old boy, almost 16 next week.

(I have a closet full of black apparel which my mom points out whenever she can and asks if I’m mourning. It’s nice to know that there is a beautiful side to sadness.)