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You Don't Know

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You look at me, with a crooked grin, eyes shining. I smile back.
My chest tightens.
I make some joke and you laugh and I laugh and for a moment it's fine, but then we start talking. Not about anything particular, mostly stories or experiences, the subjects are all sort of juggled, so I don't really know where we start or end.
But then something in my chest snaps again, and all I can think is,
You don't know.
You don't know about the long nights I stay awake crying, or pull my hair or claw my eyes. You don't know how hard every day is to get through, or that feeling of lightening crackling through your chest when you wake, then burning out, leaving you feeling ashy and sweltered. You don't know how I kick walls and throw things, and write verbal abuse to myself. You don't know how much I hate myself.
But then you smile again.
Like it's nice, just to be here. Like today is just a good day.
I can't remember the last time I had a day like that.
But then you make another joke and smile and laugh and I look into your eyes this time and realize something in them I haven't seen before.
Maybe I don't know. 

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