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The Hardest Thing

By yellowzoe, Broomfield, CO

In the last few months, I’ve been asked multiple times (for college applications, job interviews, general queries, etc.), “What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done?”

Breathe. And I know that seems to be a strenuous task only for the strife-less and whimsical but there is a hollow in every person. It is a hole of darkness and grunge. A place crafted by the T’s and A’s of DNA, that is barren. It’s where your soul goes to die. The burial ground morphs into a playground where morose swings and slides and silence frolics on black tops. Pity is playing on monkey bars and climbing up your ribs; she is blocking the air to your lungs and now you can’t even breathe. I can’t even breathe.

In situations of death, I know this place well. I visited often when my grandfather died.

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