Wrath. Pride.

“Can you just shut up for a minute.”

comes the normality. When somebody you pissed off gets pissed off at you, then what?

Then what?

You could either get that raging wrath coming on or you could feel so hurt. Most of us go for the formal, thrusting out that angry face that, in true form, puts Wrath to shame, before screaming and shouting or going for the quiet anger. If you’ve faced someone who did, showing their emotions in its purest form, you would feel angry. Angry at them for being angry. Angry at yourself for starting this. Angry at everything, even that button you dropped. If they, however, felt hurt, stung even, at the curt shutting out and down you just gave, and if their face flashed that momentary flinch of pain, you’d feel guilt. Guilt, in all its glory. Guilt, twisting in your gut. Guilt, eating your heart. To relieve guilt, pride comes in the way. You have to throw that stupid big ego of yours, or that hardy demeanour you use daily just to settle your guilt stricken mind. So why do it?

Pride.

Pride.

Pride.

Pride is always in the way. Pride is a burden, a sick twisted fate. Pride, the start and end of Man. Pride, our captor, our downfall.

Wrath is always brought on by Pride, and Pride, Wrath. When our dear sweet big ego is prodded by something or someone for that matter, we feel intense embarrassment or humiliation that we’d feel pissed. Pissed at being exposed, pissed at seeming vulnerable. And fights go on. On and on and on, until we can’t hurt each other no more, until we have lost our feelings, our faith. Then, we leave. Not literally, but mentally and emotionally. We leave each other, we don’t feel each other any more, we are far apart. And the one thing that’s keeping us away is Pride. Damn stupid Pride. The thing that loves to destroy happiness, destroy trust. The thing that controls us all.

The one stupid thing I can’t get rid of.

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