I no longer fight my pain or
my frustration or my anger.
I sit with it.
I put my arm around it.
And I say,
“There you are old friend.
What do you need to tell me today?”
And I let it cry on my shoulder.
And I let it be.
And I don’t hold who it is, against it.
Sometimes I cry on its shoulder, too.
And it never holds it against me.
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