The Volcano.

It's building up, I almost can't keep it in anymore. Some days, it gets so strong I actually have to leave the room before any of it escapes. It's like I spend all my time either denying it or wrestling with myself to hold it in, to keep it from spilling out and making a mess of everything. Because it IS a messy thing. The truth, that is.

Why do I sit there every day and look across the table at you and pretend everything is the same? Why do I joke and dance all over the things I really want to say? Why am I so confused and why does my stomache hurt so much and why, oh why, can't I be stronger? Why do I ruin every moment with frightened babble, whenever we get so close to saying something that would change everything? Why is it so hard to jump, when we know it can't really hurt more than a few seconds. Or a few years.

Maybe it can just last forever this way, but then the truth whispers from the dark corner where you've shoved it and covered it up with laudry...no it can't. Things are bound to change. You can't be happy with the way things are... and then you're not again. Everything is perfect the way it is, but then why does the fire explode in your chest when you see them together? Is it because you wish it was you and someone else? Or do you wish it was you instead of her? The flames simmer below the surface, but it's just so much easier to temporarily blot it out than face it. The problem there is it always comes back, until you deal with it.

But what if you let it go, and it rages out of control and people flee for their lives? Or what if you stay hidden and years later steam rises... but it's too late. The fire is gone. The fuel is spent somewhere else and you find that all you have is stone. What do you do then, when there are no more feelings to make sense of, to agonize over, to confuse yourself with in a flurry of smoke? You sit on the pile of stones and logic.