I was idly perusing Pinterst today and came across a prompt that made me stop and write: Write about something you do not share.
I do not believe anyone has ever accused me of being unemotional … my passion spills in my words and flashes in my eyes. I share my heart, my compassion, my need to make a difference in this insane world. I share my anger and frustration, much to the dismay of those around me. I have a fiery temper that rivals the hurricanes that visit our coasts annually. I share my dreams and my failures. I share heartbreak, although it may be cryptic. I have never been selfish in material things or emotions. But there is one thing I refuse to share with anyone — stranger or friend or family. I keep it barricaded in the deep recesses of my soul, possessive over its very existence. I refuse to share my grief. It is mine.