Some days are miserable.

Some days, you wish you lived in a different life where you don't know anyone, and you don't care.

Some days, caring hurts.

You learn to cry in the dark where no one can see you, and greet the day with a smile you don't feel.

It's necessary that nobody learns your secret. The secret that a heart can hurt for no reason, or for reasons so small and so foolish that you can never speak them aloud. Reasons that are written on your heart even as you dismiss them with your head.

So you cry your tears and wash them away with no one the wiser. It doesn't matter that they would hold you if they knew.

Their troubles are big while yours are small. If only small troubles didn't hurt so much. If only you could look at them logically and say,

"Oh, this really doesn't matter in the grand scheme of life."

If only, if only...but small troubles don't work that way.

They wriggle and writhe and worm their way into everything you think, everything you feel. They fester and grow until they explode outward, hurting people who did nothhing wrong and who don't understand.

Yet still, you cannot tell them those little reasons, those small troubles, because all they can do is tell you that you are being foolish, unreasonable.

You already know that.

Some days are harder than others.