They don't know how much you shake me. How a few minutes of small talk with your intent gaze on me could be the source of my annoyance. For it reappears in my head in the most unexpected and unwarranted times. And yet they say that a smattering of small interactions here and there won't hurt. They don't know how weak I am. They don't know.

I think I didn't as well.

--
I am steeling myself for rejection. My thoughts can't be lenient for my heart isn't made for repeated disappointments. I mask it. Knowing that talking wont work. No one ever tells me the right thing anyway, and for me to expect them to do so is unfair for both sides. They are human, and so are you. You can't blame anyone in this. You just accept.

I try my best to confide in the All-Knowing, and true to nature, it does give me a sort of comfort. He understands your wrangled tangle of pain. You don't need to say anything. You don't even need to think about it. Really, as I bring up my hands and cup my face, as I hug the earth and kiss the ground with my forehead, I am free.

I should be. Only I'm not. Not always.