The sentence in my head... (continued)

... and it hurts sometimes. It makes me cry. It pulls and stabs and gnaws at places inside of me that I can't even reach to protect. The sting of sadness that evaded me before has now become a shroud... and a second skin like porcelain underneath my own. Right now I'm silent no more... but no one is here to hear me crying... and that's how I want it to be.