“ From the moment of your birth, crying has been a sign of strength, of life.”
Don’t be ashamed, I want to tell you. You have nothing to hide. Tears are things that well up with those thoughts and emotions, an expression of all the things that build up like walls or dirt on a grave. It’s understandable. Nothing to be ashamed of here. I understand a desire for privacy, for a moment alone, but I wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything- anyone. So there I stood with tissues in hand as I watched you cry at your desk. A familiar ache rose in my chest.
“Oh, you have tissues.” I managed to whisper. You glanced up. “I’m fine.” It’s a line I let whiz by me. “Do you want me to grab anyone?” I ask, knowing I’m probably not the face you’d hope to see. Standard operating procedure. Hope you still like blueberry muffins. You’ll be getting one tomorrow.
You shake your head. I nod and leave. Give you a few minutes alone in our paper thin cubicle to do whatever you need to. A little privacy, I can give. I worry. But it’s not really my place. Letting you down seems natural, as natural as teaching you things. I think we forget sometimes how similar we can be.
Different walks with similar problems: anxiety, depression. A familiar looming sense of doom, a shared love of rain and thunder, words and crafts we both seem to enjoy.
