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This dull pain has spread thoroughly within my chest; encasing my organs, swallowing them whole with its relentless mouth. Like the sound of fingernails on a blackboard, the feeling is torturous; loud and piercing, lasting long after it has ceased.

I cannot begin to describe the surreal amount of emotions I have felt in the past four years. Each one is distinct in its own way—as clear as the plucking of each individual guitar string. And they continue to play their notes, making a symphony of life; it hurts to hear but it’s all I can listen to because it is the most comforting and familiar noise I know of.

Tears are produced occasionally.
No, not a waterfall but the slow and steady flow of a cool and refreshing stream. They form when the environment is so cold and the only warmth comes from within. It is the slow rumble of emotions churning and melting into one another; it is the confusion and anger lost within the despair and disappointment. The motion produces heat and gives rise to incredible amount of heat. And the contrast between hot and cold presents a feeling of unimaginable exhaustion. It leaves you gasping for air and you can’t open up your airway long enough in fear of losing the only warmth left.

Then the devil speaks.

He tempts you with physical pain, relocating the unexplainable pain to one in which you can locate easily. He tempts you with a reason; an excuse to use if you were ever questioned: because a plausible answer is better than one that cannot be uttered. He blinds you with vulnerability and persuades you through the lack of a better reason.

The devil always speaks.