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A lump has formed inside my chest. It is heavy, a true burden. I don't know when it became. It just is. It is rude and interrupting, like a telemarketer calling during Christmas supper. It burns inside of me; yearning for attention, wanting to affect my every thought, my every move. It claws at my heart, my lungs, my ribs; its only purpose to cause harm and distraction. It scars my organs and tears at my throat with a passion so thorough it is terrifying. I begin to feel nauseous, as though I can expel the lump. But I know I can't. I can only heal it. But how? How does one heal a tumor of pain; of heartache?
I cry. I cry long and hard. I yearn and pine for what will never be; what should never be. Eventually, I quiet, my shaking sobs winding down to silent tears, and finally, a dry face. I breathe slowly: it's rocky at first, but soon it becomes even. I lift my chin and set my jaw. My eyes narrow. I am ready to face the world again.
As I re-enter society, no one appears to notice the redness of my cheeks or the puffiness of my eyes. Good. Tonight, I want no questions. Tonight, I need no sympathy. Tonight, I am taking care of myself.
Tonight, I am strong.
Written 21 February 2008
c. 2008, Steen Krause
Comment
I hope you have more good days than bad now...your piece touched my heart.
I know the lump all too well. I'm glad to see this piece was written years ago...
Emotional piece!
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