To Whom it May Concern,
I would say "you know who you are," but I don't think you do. If only you knew who you were. But your pride blinds you. Its blinds you and binds you. In making yourself believe you are other than what you are, you destroy what you ought to be, who you could be.
You say, "I'm fine," and you're the only one who believes it. You say, "There's nothing to worry about," and in those words, the cue to worry. You don't know that your spirit speaks through the sound of your voice so much more than what your mouth says. The lines on your face bear testament to the truth. How, I don't know. But they do. The lines on your face, the sound of your footfall, sharper than before, they all betray your words.
There is grace, though, you know. Or do you?