A Play on Pain

Have you ever watched someone speak about a problem they are having and watch the inner struggle? It's easy to see. Their facial expression changes, hand gestures become more fluid and their eyes cloud over. Venting is a lost art form. It's the shedding of a skin that no longer suits you. So many people take for granted those they have to witness these chips tumble off. And even more people have no one to to snap the pictures. It pains me to see someone I love bear the burden of the entire world on her tiny shoulders and to think to myself that there's nothing I can do to ease her torment. I'd take it from her if I could because, of course, my shoulders are much stronger and are accustomed to the weight. You can care too much. I've noticed this over the past two days. You are only accountable for YOUR actions and not those of others. She cannot be the closet in which they house their skeletons. Nor should she be. Seeing someone cry because they cannot, as a single individual, cure all that ails the world (her world) is tragic and disheartening. I want to say to her, "Just stop doing it." but I cannot. These aspects are what make up her personality and flow. You can't blame yourself for a car accident because you sold them the car and you are not responsible for saving someone from themselves. You cannot help someone who is not willing to do anything about their situation. A victim is a victim and in some instances become the predator instead of the prey. Preying on the emotions and love of those close to them. It's a vicious cycle of self loathing that can only be stopped by one person, them. This pebble stops spinning for no man. And life began while you were busy worrying about other things. Love, in all it's splendor rests solely on the premise that it is interchangeable. Love gives but from itself. It isn't a parasite and host situation.