The worst part about anger is its end. When your blood has finished boiling, when your fists remember how to unclench, when you grow distant from the very reason why you were angry in the first place, you realize that you have opened up a valley gorge between what once was and what is now. We do crazy things when we’re mad. Leave a trail of ruin behind us. Spit poison like we mean to kill. Untack hate from the wall around our hearts and push it deep into the person whom we intended to hurt. In its end, anger does not spare you with forgiveness because even if you let your troubles go, the monster that you felt inside of you never disappears and you might have forgiven the others but it is harder to excuse yourself. You’ve got to live with your own worst enemy and the only way to hide from it is through anger. No wonder why apologies never come easily.