My feet hurt.

All those things, and all those people that tried to get to me- to destroy me, they’re still there, but so am I.

After everything that has been said and done and whispered, here I stand. I’d like to believe that I am stronger than I ever was- that all of this happened for a reason. I want to think that every single time that I’d been beaten down, I’d gotten up stronger.

Truth is, I don’t know that. My feet hurt, and every step is just as painful. But still, here I am. If I keep walking, it must mean that I really am stronger now.

I was always, and still am, a relatively quiet person. What happens then, when things happen and there is no one to turn to? How long can I keep these secrets buried within me before they start to consume me whole? They’ve already started chewing away on my insides. I suppose being quiet has it’s advantages in times like these.

All the secrets in the world, but no one to tell them to. Maybe that’s how God feels sometimes.

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