Suicidal empathy
I pray peace for their soul.
I hope they felt no pain, they are safe, they are happy.
That's what I tell myself everytime I pass roadkill- a love letter sent too late.
As if my words could follow them somewhere softer than the asphalt.
I carry strangers' deaths in my chest like they were mine to mourn.
I hope the stray cat somehow knows I love him.
I hope he isn’t scared to be alone.
That hunger doesn’t feel like abandonment.
I hope he doesn’t ache with the question of why no one chose him.
I want him to be okay so badly that I have already grieved him
I hope the homeless man doesn’t feel hopeless.
I wonder if his mother knows where her baby is.
Does she still picture him as a child - soft cheeks and open hands.
Not alone. Cold. Scared.
I hope he’s more than what people silently pass by
more than a problem, more than invisible
I hold his humanity in my thoughts like a fragile thing the world keeps dropping.
There’s a child crying.
I hope someone safe comforts her.
I hope she is believed.
I hope she knows if no one loves her, I do.
I hope the mother bird of the baby who fell out of the nest knows it's not her fault.
I hope she doesn’t circle the empty space calling into silence.
I hope she understands that sometimes the world is cruel for no reason.
And I love her too.
I have the constant ache of wanting the world to be kinder than it is.
Like if I stop hoping then something terrible will be my fault.
Loving everything feels like the loneliest thing in the world.
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