Your compassion was the bridge, it just took the time to trust my weight to it. You extended your hand and stayed while I showed you the scars, the mess, the fear. You let me come close, let me hide, let me return without shame. Every time I thought you’d had enough there was only patience I never felt I’d earned. I never wanted to be this way; I have pride. I need to be seen as strong, though I haven’t been and am still so far from achieving. True healing takes time, there are no magic wands for deep pain. I’m going to try to be reliable, no promises, but you know me by now, my word means something.

They say that compassion is the closest thing you get to love. But honestly, isn’t compassion just as great? Being so broken inside that your own cries get stuck in the back of your throat. Your sorrow brings you so far gone that you can’t even shed a tear. Your screams get lost in your head. Is compassion not so much love that your brain could explode just by being around those people you care about most?


41 thoughts on “Compassion

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