Low

It’s my birthday this midnight hour. What a day to feel as melancholy as the earth before a big rain. My eyes are sore from crying. I need a good cry now and again, keeps me clear of madness. I cried for me, for the ugliness in the world, for the selfishness of those I love most. I cried because how can I change any of it? This is the way of the world. The way of life. I can fight against it but it’s a thick wall of indestructible rock, made up of all the bad in our human existence. Why am I burdened today of all days this mercilessly? My eyes hurt. I’ll come in puffy tomorrow and someone will wonder what’s wrong with me. Or they won’t care.

R.

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