Stained.

Maybe that's what the real feeling of sadness is -how depression should really be described. Not clinical depression, but the type of depression that comes from a culmination of constant disappointment. Disappointment that beats so steadily in the heart it gets tattooed onto the inside of a person's chest until they can feel the sadness. Until they feel so heavy from this inward-collapsing-sternum-feeling that they're practically falling backwards instead of ever walking forwards.

It's a stain. An inking of a person's character that penetrates so deep it's under the skin and slithering along next to their veins. This smudge, this smear, is completely matte and no light escapes it. It becomes a black hole inside the person until they lose themselves in it. It sucks all the glow and all the special out of them until their skin is matte and sallow, too.

And all this weighted, heavy not-walking-right and all this sallowness becomes a stain on this person's character. Other people stop saying "good morning" as often and even the sunshine seems to show less often.

And even if the person ever shakes off the sadness and can face the mirror again, the stain will always be visible to them.