It makes me sad when people think they’re so alone.
I know I don’t have much to offer, that my hands cannot hold that much in them, that my arms are too small to wrap around you, that my shoulders are not strong enough for you to cry on, but I’m here, standing quite alone, waiting for you to look up from your tear-brimmed eyes and realize that, no, I’ve always been here, waiting for you to give me your heart so I can fix it, soothe the bruises and stitch up the cuts, fill you up and make you whole again.
Because I know what it feels like too—because I don’t want anyone in this entire world to feel like me, because if I could take everyone’s pain into me and relieve them of this terrible hurt, I would, I would.