There’s a knife in my chest, shoved into the chink in my heart. I’m walking through the halls, while people pass by in a haze. Although I see these people everyday, they are on a different world than I am. Even when my friend greets me and walks by my side, I don’t find myself on her planet. She doesn’t see the knife in my chest, for she doesn’t feel it. She asks how I feel. I say it hurts but I’m okay. She quickly changes the subject and the knife twists searing into hot blood. I want to cry out in agony, but I choke it back. When I see her face I know she simply doesn’t understand. She does not feel it, she has never known the pain of a knife in her delicate heart. I quickly blink away the tears, but my eyes burn red betraying my act. She sees my blistering eyes and turns hers away, continuing on her own topic. She doesn’t know how to comfort me, she doesn’t understand my pain. I try to contribute to the conversation, but I’m still so far away. I try to forget the knife, but the pain sits heavy on my heart and his face lingers in the back of my mind. Struggling to nod and agree at the right times and grasping at random words to focus on her world. She leaves me and the knife creeps out, just a hair, giving me the slightest relief. Then, I walk into a room full of unknown people and it sinks back in. My cry calls out and exposes me in front of people who can’t comfort me in the least. Weeks continue on like this and the knife never goes away. It has taught me some things while it sits in the chink of my heart. I know now how to be a better actor, how to smile when I feel like crying. I find the strength to keep my head up when I want to crumble to the ground. I savor every laugh that passes my throat, it feels so much more important now that I know I need them. What didn’t kill me made me stronger. It hurts, but my knife reminds me everyday to appreciate life. It reminds me that while others may not understand, I can be a light for the people with the same pain.