I don’t believe so large a portion of humanity is holding back the tears just now. My home contains me, my dog who has grown complacent, perhaps the cat as well, a steady hum– inefficient heat ducts; I love a man whose presence would bring me joy, but by nature of his life leaves me needing a shoulder to cry on, while no shoulder in the vast offerings of mankind could soothe the wound of his removal. It’s silly. It’s futile. It’s tragic only to me.

I know women and men suffer all over this planet. Do they wish to wipe my tears, as I would love to wipe theirs, if only meek hearts could console one another. I don’t believe that misery loves company. But I do believe that if you joy in another’s suffering, or else neglect it, you must be wicked indeed. We are sometimes at a loss to console a suffering one. May God hear our prayers for those times.


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