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baggage

The pain sits on my chest. It is heavy but soft, an infinite blanket of sadness. I feel it in my knees and back. I try to swallow it down with water, but water passes through it. Even sunshine cannot touch this darkness spun from the needs or beliefs of others I have, often inadvertently, undertaken. I try to tell myself, “These things do not belong to you,” but my hands are fisted and refuse to open.

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