And my imagination sees you crying, curled up in a ball so weak. I want to go to you. I want to tell you that you’re pathetic. I want to look you in the eyes and tell you to stop crying before I give you something to cry about. Just turn the crying off! The grief must be held in at all times. I don’t want to hear it. I won’t listen to you anymore!
Because I understand. Because I’ve felt what you are feeling. Because I don’t ever want you to feel that way again—your diseased emotions.
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