In order to bare the weight of sadness and for my sorrow to amount to anything, I must first be happy. And that happiness must wither away, torturing me with its decay.

I know what I've asked for, and I know to be cautious in asking such things. I also know that I need to stop storing their pain. Instead, I need to start healing it. I'm so much better at healing than I am at carrying these heavy burdens.

You make me feel real. Don't leave again. Please.

? In other news, damn-the-bob might as well be renovated. A few kinks, but nothing I'm terribly concerned with.

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Heart vs mind.