Weary.
I see a weariness in everyone.
I don’t know that everyone can see it like I do, if it’s just something I imagine, or if everyone just ignores the call of one tired heart to another. In a lot of people, it’s below the surface, hard to pick out. Other times their world weariness rides on their faces, in their lightless eyes, in the exhausted expanse of their shoulders, and even in their laughter.
It is these people, the ones who have become so burdened they can no longer hide it as well as they probably once did, who I yearn to help but never do, at least not in the way I wish I could. In small ways I try to do what I can.
I smile.
I offer my friendship.
My words.
My time, my ears, and my arms.
It’s never enough but they’re grateful. When they thank me, press my hand between theirs, and look me in the eyes. that’s the only time I feel the burden is shared at all. The burden of being human.
Of having no control.
