Everyone laughs; it’s
then I feel that, though broken,
we might be okay.
Your face is red.
Transparent tracks of tears wash your cheeks.
A tissue rubs at your nose.
A dozen eyes focus in.
Not even a breath disturbs the silence of your sobs.
So young, little child, so young to be brokenhearted.
So young to feel this weight
and doubt that anyone can understand.
I am a pair of eyes trained on your agony.
No matter what we say to lift you,
I fear you have lost all hope.