s-t-r-e-s-s

It boils down in me but expression of it is hard to come by. It flares up and dies quickly, getting lost in the throat. Your fists clench and you find yourself about to burst out about how unfair it all is...but then you stop. Being this old you know there is really no use complaining. Your steps hit the pavement with a heavy motion, slow, like someone being dragged forward against their will. There is silence. You and your comrade are lost in your own thoughts, both worried about separate things. You both understand the silence. There is nothing more to be said.