We push it away, shove it down so that nobody can see it. It’s not there if I don’t look at it. But like the refuse we refuse to expel it festers and rots. And soon enough you cannot deny its presence any longer. You have no choice but to rip it out from the walls that you’ve entombed it in. Rip it out, piece by piece. Until you're left face to face with only you and it. Face it. Or forever let it remain. Face it, or build your home on top of unsteady ground and pray that one day it won’t collapse. 

Don't ask me. You know what it is.