There are these days when my heart feels full. My heart feels full. My heart feels full. Full of what? Full of whom? I really don’t know. It is not a particular thing, person, place, or even a memory. It’s not just nostalgia, it’s not just anxiety. Sure there is a bit of past and a lot of present in it. But there is also helplessness and regret. There is also a sense of grief and confusion. And I guess, I am not the only one to feel like that. Which makes me feel like shit, I guess. Because even my trauma isn’t unique. Not that I would love it if it were, but yeah then there would have been that “chip on my shoulder”. I mean, who doesn’t love saying, ‘You don’t know what I am going through?’ But that is not the case here. What I am feeling is nothing compared to what you have gone through or (god forbid) you will go through. My restlessness is nothing but a molehill in front of this mountain that is your pain. Your past losses. Your future inglorious defeats. Your constant self-doubt and incessant questioning of self-worth. All of it is seeped in a level of misery that is beyond my petty pain. And as I speak, I feel better. My heart feels a little empty. Like its fullness has transferred to someone else, at least for the moment. I can see the lighter side of things now, thanks to you.
You who stopped to read this.
You, who made my misery your own.
You! You good person you!
I bow my head and thank thee.
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