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He isn’t really sad. No that’s not it. There’s just this constant pressure that builds in his chest when he thinks of her. His chest contracts and refuses to expand and he doesn’t think he can breathe. He might as well be drowning in one of her icy holds. He isn’t sad; the weight is just impossible.
She isn’t sad. She has a great life. Loving husband. Great family. Terrific friends. That doesn’t mean she’s bursting at the seams with happiness. She wishes for more. Passion. Fire. - Golden eyes ablaze with both - She isn’t sad. She isn’t joyful. Merely content.