She feels everything so strongly. Passionate I call her.
The hate. It makes her boil. Ready to unleash her anger, not caring of the consequences.
The pain. A crushing demon pushing her so hard into the ground that she wonders how she can even get up in the mornings.
The sadness. A small, faint ache in her that throbs for someone. Like a bruise. Harmless enough but hurting when poked.
And the love. It's like a joy to her. A big ball of happiness that makes her so happy that she feels full enough to burst.
Dedicated to a friend.
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