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"You've gotten so angry you've just made the best speech of your life to the person you love, but you regret it."

To your anger,

     You're pissed. I get it. Your eyebrows get annoyed and start getting together to form one angry face, your cheeks turn red, and you grab the nearest piece of glassware and decide to throw it furiously across the room in frustration. You're angry that she said all those words to you. That she's even capable of saying it to you. You're angry that it's not working out like it used to and everything is out of control. You're angry that she doesn't want you to do anything about it. You're angry that you were wrong. You're angry that mistakes were made and emotions were triggered. You're angry at the world but most of all, you're angry at yourself. And you've gotten so angry you've just made the best speech of your life to the person you love, but you regret it. That threatened the both of you to end what you started, what you built over the years with just a few words fueled by frustration and insecurities.
     You're devastated she doesn't seem to have the open attitude she used to have for you and she's angry she can't seem to trust you anymore. Both of you seem so distant like you never even met, just as you were this close to each other. You're calling and she's not even picking up, she texts you apologies but pride is grappling you with its claws, telling you you should always be the right one in an argument. Someone once said anger is never without a reason, and I get it. But seldom with a good one. It's good to think with your mind, and love with the heart, but it's better to add a little doze of the one into the other. Love with the mind, think with the heart, and vice versa. Your eyebrows may once again get together, and pride may grapple you with its claws, but anger is a disease. You don't cure a disease by feeding it. You don't cure it by leaving, either. Cure it with her. Cure it with love. She'll get the feeling because she sometimes feels it too. And you'll get it, too.

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