I'm not angry about anything! I don't get angry when it rains and I have no umbrella! I'm not angry when I miss the bus, because I know another will come! I don't get angry when something breaks, because everything can be fixed, except human life, and there are no irreplaceable things, unlike the people we lose, there are only perhaps newer and better ones! I'm not angry when I meet bad people—maybe they had good reason to be exactly as they were the moment I met them, but truly, they are wonderful people to their loved ones and true friends or to someone who needs them! I'm not angry about things beyond my control! I'm not angry that I cannot change the world around me, because perhaps it's not the world that needs changing, but the way I see it! Then I must change something in myself first! And I have changed—I'm not angry about anything! Life is too short to spend it in anger!
# Anger I don't know where it comes from, this heat that rises unbidden— a fist clenching in the chest, words gathering like storm clouds before they break. It arrives without invitation, a guest who won't remove his shoes, tracking mud across the careful arrangements of a careful life. I've tried reasoning with it. I've tried to smile it away, to drown it in tea, to walk it off in the evening air. But anger is patient. Anger knows how to wait in the spaces between breaths, in the pauses of conversation, in the silence after someone leaves. It whispers its own truths— not always wrong ones. It says: you deserve better. It says: don't accept less. It says: fight back. And sometimes I listen. Sometimes I let it speak through me, rough and necessary, clearing the air like lightning before the rain comes gentle. But mostly I carry it quietly, a stone in my pocket, getting heavier with each mile, wondering if this weight is the price of speaking up, or the price of staying silent.
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