the one that is so short because truth weighs more than a black dwarf

At moments where I feel the old me come creeping back, the doubt, the hurt, the feeling that maybe I am not me and maybe everything is just a swirl of ego, luck and lies, when all the world fades into the darkness woven by boogeymen and all sentences run on forever, I feel it start deep inside. It is a voice, powerful as storms and strong as mountains. It burns like the sun and it flows like wind edged in razor toothed ice. It is me. It is my voice. It is mighty. It is loud. And it buoys me up.

It stares into the darkness without fear.

And it speaks two words.

And those words could crack the gates of hell.

 

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