It's only in the quiet moments that it makes itself known.
Only when the noise of the day finally stills.
And the ache escapes like the whisper of a sigh from the box it's been kept in, tightly chained and padlocked against escape.
Tears track silent prayers.
Inhale.
Exhale.
And on the out, more tears escape.
It's a quiet litany of confession and brokenness, need, ache and longing.
Above all longing.
And all too soon the moment passes, and everything is corralled back to the box. The chain is tightened and the lock replaced.
And so few are the wiser.
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