Close to tears that just can’t fall. There’s no point in crying, it won’t fix anything. Can’t change anything anyway, this is how it is. Distracted, complacent, that’s all there is. Maybe it will change. Renew itself and start again. Maybe this is just how it is, how it’s going to be. No point in speaking up, it will only hurt. Then circles, circles will follow. Winding around and tangling up the things that should be said. They have no way of really coming out, of being expressed in full. Occasionally little pieces will float to the surface of things that are thought and said. But this is only a part of that deeper thing that lives where things have to go without saying. Not as much effort as there should be, there usually isn’t. It hurts, this thing that is carried. It kicks and pushes to be out and sulks sullenly at being ignored. A small, spoiled child living in the mind. Only wanting attention and to take control of your thoughts, your day, your life. It wants constant, unoccupied attention. A thick blanket that covers and consumes. Suffocating your smiles and your happiness. There it sits, forgotten but not forgetting. Always hovering, this thing unsaid. This feeling that can’t be pushed out. Stubborn as hell and close as an angel. It sits for a while longer, thick with things that must go unsaid.

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