I want to get out, run away, go away, escape.
I don’t.
I go home, cook dinner, watch children’s shows, and fake smiles. The ache is there, today it’s my chest, my gut. It’s everywhere and nowhere and I wish I could just hide. If only I was smaller and paper thin. I would fold myself into little squares, tinier and tinier so that my surface space was so inconsequential that you could walk right past me and never know I was there. I could hide between the couch cushions or underneath the refrigerator. I could be a speck of lint you pick off your sweater and toss into the trash.
Forgotten.
All that would hurt less than this.
Exploding would hurt less.
Kacey Vanderkarr 
I hope things are okay. I think of you and am glad you are with me at Inkspell.
Thanks Melissa. Fortunately everything is great with my writing. It’s everything else that isn’t. I’m glad to be at Inkspell, too. Very excited for what is to come in the future.
You and me both 😦
Yes. On the real life side, I wish it could get better fast–it will get better, but the waiting for that sucks. One the writing side, there’re some lines in there
I hear that…