Where is the home of sadness?

A quick bit of prose(?) written as I waited at work; an effort to understand this sadness that often follows me like a shadow.

Where is the home of sadness? It lies within me. I have tried to evict it, turned off the electricity, denied it sustenance and it refuses to leave. I have forced the sun to shine, trying to blast light past the yellowed shade and the soiled green curtains. They seem a weak barrier, yet only a wan and sickly haze is allowed in.

I walk around this enigma, this hole that sucks the warmth from my world. It is an anomaly. It intrudes on the pleasant green and blue of my surroundings. It is a stain. A wound, Death. I have looked in the door and seen the room. It is filled with dry and dusty furnishings. It whispers for me to leave the sun. To rest. I hear my son playing on the hill, his voice dreamlike. Startled, I let go of the door and back away. My feet had crossed the threshold. I step backward again, crushing fragrant grass. I do not dare to turn. Again I step yet still feel the pull of the room, urging me to enter. I pump my arms and step faster, my back to the sun, my face to the shadow. I step, and step and step again as my breathing comes faster. I step as the sounds of nature and life slowly warm me.

The cabin remains a dark blot in my vision. I step, and step my muscles trembling and burning until, at last, the green begins to overpower it, until it diminishes in size and becomes a fuzzy blob.

I step until I can hear my son's laughter, now loud in my ear. I step until the curve of the hill hides the dark and oak trees spring into my view. I continue slowly until they stand like an army between me and my fear. Then finally, I stop.

I will not cross that hill again. I fear that one day that dry and dusty place will seem a refuge.

I wish to live in the sun.

I turn slowly to greet my son as tears roll down my face. They glitter like diamonds as they slide through the dust onto the green and fragrant grass.