Feelings are like symphonies.
Intricate, complex things with recognizable melodies here and there.
Booming timpani, deep dark basses, terrifyingly delicate triangles.
Everyone adding to the cacophony I am trained to hear as good.
Except some of them are not good. They have discordant bits that make my teeth hurt.
Biting great holes in my psyche, turning me inside out.
Until the French horns step in and fill my eyes with tears of hope.
Sunshine in a tune amidst the blackness of despair.
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