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[personal profile] edg
I am angry, and sad, and lonely, and wistful.

I am rage and fury, the wrapped-up injury of twenty-three years given voice and form.

I am cold and tired, all my disappointment come full circle.

I am lost and forgotten, disappeared in a crowd of six billion more important.

I am hope starved, waiting for a ship that foundered years past.

And nobody notices.

I can't let them. If I do, it gives them a weakness I can't afford. It gives them a way to hurt me, and I can't allow that.

So I bundle it up neatly, fasten it with buttons and zippers and a thousand tiny threads, and hold it inside, and add when I need to. I put on my smile and tell them I'm fine. And when my bundle finally begins to burst its seams... it's only a headache. I can still smile through it.

(I am love, too, and forgiveness. I am healing and listening and repenting and absolving; I am a thousand things which nobody - nobody who sees my shell - will ever know.)

(I am angry, and sad, and alone.)
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