A faint whimpering can be heard, though barely
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Through a pillow littered with patches of salt-stained misery.
And my cheeks burn as the sorrow trickles down my face,
Stopping but briefly to collect at my chin
And drop as one unto my breast,
Signifying my defeat.
I have been broken.
Though secretly, and as I sit here amongst these unfeeling walls of despair,
I begin to gather my senses and rebuild those walls; taller. Thicker. Stronger.
Mistake this not as the bitter taste of tears and regret,
As tears whose taste reflects uncertainty and anxiety.
If there weren’t so many hurdles to overcome, I would leave tonight
Fate holds on tight
As we stumble on through life