She had learned how to cry quietly, under covers or in the shower, where no one would notice and no one would ask questions. And if anyone asked, she would always respond that it was nothing. But, of course, it wasn’t nothing. She was an ocean, always arriving on the shore but never being able to stay, always being pulled back to the depths of darkness. Every loss is met with a gain, every grief met with happiness, every fear met with understanding. Yet it was the loss, the grief, and the fear that she focused on; unreasonable, she knew, but she could not control the darkness, no matter how
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