I write this letter in angry tears…in fact, this lemon top of mine is been scarred with dry wasted tears even as I write this.
I write this to hide it in my drawer but I’m hoping it gets to you. Wishing that my tears would embrace yours. Praying that these angry tears would stop flowing, but I can’t control it. So just for today, I’m letting it flow.
Those piercing words you’ve probably heard before, I heard again last night, and its echoes replaying in my tiny little head brought these uncontrolable angry tears.
The voice of rejection.
The voice of selfishness
That same voice that tells me to my face that I was taken for granted.