You recite the facts to yourself as you discreetly shed a torrent of steaming tears.
No one must see them. The person who confided in you will think she’s made you sad. But you’re not sad. You’re angry. On her behalf.
Recite the facts again. Wipe the hot, angry tears from your eyes. No one can know.
The questions roll in. How can anyone be so thoughtless to this person all the time? Recite. You have the answer. It fulfills your mind on occasion, but never the heart. Not once the heart.
You’re not crying for yourself. There is no denying that your own life isn’t perfect. Whose is? But you are treated well, cared for, given beyond what most people could expect.
You’re crying for the one who has none of these things. And the reasons, no matter how often you recite them, never make sense. They never will.
You’re crying because you can’t make the problem go away. You want to do this so badly that stings in every rivulet that slides down your cheeks. You allow this for just a few minutes, arising from unrelated frustrations, it comes. But it must cease. Now. Wipe them away. Be content. If there’s one thing you’re great at, it’s being content. Others envy you. Always have. But would they if they understood how helpless you feel?
You take a deep breath now that the tears of lament for all the injustice are gone. Forcing yourself to relax, you return your voice to a steady dulcet tone, should you be required to speak. You won’t give it away. You cannot. You must be ready to help. It’s the only thing you know how to do. The only way you want to do.