I hate being angry over something I have no control over.
But I let it eat at me anyway, gnawing at the soft pink of my heart and stomach until I feel physically sick.
Don’t you detest hearing something second-hand?
Do you ever wish that the complainer themselves would brave the potential fear and embarrassment and talk to you directly rather than whisper to some puppet to mimic back to you?
And I am not a scary person to talk to.
I’m like a baby kitten, seriously.
The anger is still gnawing away, tugging at my heart strings.
I really do feel sick.