I’ve always been perceived as strong, but to be honest, I don’t really feel like I am. People think I’m strong because I’ve been to hell and back, all the while having a smile on my face. They don’t see traces of dried tears on my cheek, they’ve never heard a sob escape my lips. They think I’m strong because because I want to be. But the truth is that I’m strong because I have no other choice. Just once, I’d like for someone to hold me and tell me that it’s okay to be weak.
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