In the quiet heart is hidden sorrow that the eye can't see

There are words from a hymn running through my mind today and I imagine every person I see with an invisible burden: a fungus growing on the brain of my older sister, a cavity in my father's heart, a personal rain cloud over my science teacher's head, and as I turn to you with my own fears written in blood on the backs of my hands, I ask you where you keep it and you point to the recycling bin, thinking I was talking about something else

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