the weight on her chest was heavier than anything she was able to lift. with her future doomed forever, how was she to rest and ever feel relief, especially when those around her liked to sit upon the weight rather than help ease it off of her? how was she ever going to get it off when the world itself is constantly berating her for even the thought of wishing it would disappear?
the weight was crushing. it felt as though God himself had laid a stone upon her, for no mere mortal could ever bare its heft. and yet, there she was, baring it herself.
it was constricting. yes. constricting in breath, making every one feel labored and like it could be the last. its effect went beyond the chest, too, though that was its primary focus. but it created tears. tears that were confusing when they were shed, for they had no true reason to make themselves present, and yet they were insistent on their appearance.
oh, it’s crushing. currently crushing. and she feels it so. she feels it’s incessant pressure and it’s force on her lungs and it’s niggling ability to create tears and she has no idea how to rid of the weight; again, she does not possess the strength of the Mighty that have placed it upon her, so perhaps she will never be rid of it, for she will never be Mighty, for that is how the world will always see her. the fool with the weight upon her chest, too stupid and weak to lift it up, even after its many years of being there, and her many years to attempt to be rid of it.
it’s a pity.