The pain, as I watched, welled up till it seemed to break her into pieces by the dozen. It was never her burden though she carried responsibility by the wheelbarrow full hurting for a world without a mother assuming she could stand in the gap alone. She felt the anguish of others while I watched as self-doubt rained on her like thunderstorms in a mid-summer hurricane crushing the city I love. I never understood the passion in which she loved, nor the reason for her tears as they were sewn into the creases of her skin. Scars, left behind by hurt they tarnished her outward appearance. She washed the floor with tears and moans. All I could do was hold her as if her heart was my own. She let out through sniffles and broken breaths that some people feel the things that most never know exist, some feel their struggle while others look on with indifference pretending not to feel anything at all.
We sat together in a pool of her tears – she never did lift her head nor curtail her sadness as though she was the cause for a world that refused love. Then somehow, I saw it in a strange twist of reality! I wasn’t holding her at all, she was gripping me as though I was bleeding internally in need of comfort.
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