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.