I'm sitting here with some acoustic folk. Not folk as in people, but with folk music, and I'm wondering about the lady that's crying in the next room with her friend, the one who is raising her crinkly brown napkin to the corners of her eyes to dab and sniff.
I can see her because of the french doors and their glass panes, ten of them.
I wonder why she's crying but I'm not going to listen. I could take off my headphones and listen, but I want to honor her story, her sense that it's hers and only shared with a friend, in their own space, in the coffee shop they share with me. A place that feels very safe.
And I wonder why so few people actually check on crying strangers when they're not with a friend, and if they do, is it because they really care or because they're curious and maybe feel a little obligated to let out an awkward, Are you okay?
Whatever our true intentions, pure or not, I think we should check on each other always, because it helps the one dabbing at their eyes with the hurting heart. Maybe we should just go, say something, anything. Maybe then, because of what comes of it, the healing and hope, we'll be living our way to the right motivations, the next time.
In so many things, we do our way to feeling love's way, until we're through the things in our way.
this was freely written in a random moment after hours of working on the book. therefore, it may make sense to only me.