Toska.

Toska [taws.kah]
noun (Russian)
Roughly translated as sadness, melancholia, lugubriousness.

I’d say ‘Hypophrenia’ which some genius on tumblr translated to ‘A feeling of sadness seemingly without a cause’ but ‘Toska’ fits better.

Not just because it’s another one of them ‘untranslatable’ words that bring about a long ass wordsy meaning and has no English equivalent. But also because ‘Hypophrenia’ actually means ‘mental retardation’ for those who don’t just take tumblr post at face value and bothered checking out legitimate dictionaries that is not an online dictionary of slang words and phrases regulated by volunteer editors.

It’s quite a gorgeous word if you think about it though, Hypophrenia; you could use it to insult someone and they’d think it means something else. Which may make the person behind the spreading of the fake meaning of that word a mastermind; convince people to use a word that means mental retardation to describe their sadness when they’re actually calling themselves retarded.

I wonder if the person who started it knew how far and wide it’d spread.

I wonder if that was actually their original intention.

But I digress.

Word of the day, ‘Toska’.

Because that’s what I’m feeling right now.

Because blue doesn’t begin to cover it.

Because I tell myself to not think about you.

And because telling myself to not think about you makes me think about you even more.

I wonder if there’s a point in life where I can miss you and not feel so… Toska.

I can go on and on about how I understand, and accept and forgive. But almost a year after, it still just brings me such many layers of pain and sadness.

“No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.”
Vladimir Nabokov

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