I get up in morning and find myself still angry at her and also at people like her. On some days, my list grows. I wonder at the patience of people who don’t get angry at such people and crush my teeth, stopping myself from saying what I am boiling with. She is nothing, zilch, but she’s powerful, like an addictive drug, which holds my thoughts for another day. Every time, I think of getting rid of her but some my own talks, internal and external, bring her back. I’m actually culprit of my mood: it’s me which is not letting her disappear.
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