Anger
At the forceful passion with which you choose to control me.
At the right you feel you have over me.
Where is my independent voice? Where is the tickle in my soul? Where is the joy of the love you promised me?
Perhaps love is:
that which seeks to explain rather than to be known
that which heals and is healed rather than expects
that which encourages another's heart to find its truth and to live it...
even if that means living it alone.
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