The front of my head is a dam for tears and the stress is intense. When I move my skull I can feel the pressure shift and slosh and threaten to spill. I struggle desperately to quell the flow, thinking of the runoff and collateral. All those wet inhabitants dealing with the runoff. Why should they suffer because I wasn’t strong. So I shore myself up constantly, building bricks out of vice and mortar in pestilent habits between so the cracks are unseen and the rocky foundations seem stable when viewed from afar. I keep it together for them.

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