It’s a sad fact that nothing inspires an artist more than melancholy. For the writer, sadness means turning to the only true solace we know: the words that we can weave together. We litter pages with words that depict tragedy, sorrow, loss and longing, words to be explored and consumed by readers. For those whom have felt that hurt or anything resembling it, the words are ravenously consumed, even as they bring tears to the eyes and bitter memories rushing to the surface of the mind. For those who have been spared such wounds, the words are a labyrinth to be explored with curiosity and (sometimes) even envy at another’s suffering, and for the “depth” that it gives them. What it is that compels us to turn anguish into art? What is is about the human species, that we are forever seeking beauty in pain?