I don’t understand.
I have been putting up such a good act lately that I even believe myself when I say I’m happy. I feel like I’m masking up so much pain and frustration that I’m losing sight of who I am. I have so much pent up emotion, and I have nobody to tell, nobody to cry to. I don’t understand death, I have not come to understand why it steals the young with such bright futures. I find myself talking about her as if she’s still around, and they can meet her. The lump in my throat stops me before I explain why she hasn’t come to visit in awhile. I’m so distracted by this internal fury, that I can’t even come to comprehend what is going on in the present moment. I’m numb on the inside, but wouldn’t dare to show it on the outside.