“A great fire burns within me, but no one stops to warm themselves at it, and passers-by only see a wisp of smoke.”
— Vincent van Gogh
A whispered scream wells up inside of me. A brilliant dullness that possibly only I am aware of. Anguished Ecstasy cannot even begin to describe the emotion as the white-hot darkness enfolds me. I embody all of these contradictions and then become surprised that others cannot perceive them as well. Surely they can look at my face and my stance and perceive the battlefield within. Yet there is only the everyday chatter that I am greeted by. Comments about the weather and gossip about mutual friends and enemies. All the while my silent screams continue.
Yet I am not vain nor foolish enough to believe that I am alone in this. There are internal battles being lost and won all around me by the moment and yet I am aware of this only by proxy. Still my own battles help me become more sensitive to those fought by others and perhaps a bit more understanding of their distractions.
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