I could tell that there was an undercurrent of depression, like a bog in a swamp, like a riptide on a sea. It seemed like a black hole, that would take everything good and seep it in. Her shiny veneer of happiness did not reveal the grotesque ugliness underneath. Sometimes, the rain would pour constantly, and she did not know where she was going, as she did not have a compass, and she had to swim against the strong currents and fight against the strong winds which threatened to sweep her away.


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