Sometimes I hide my compassion.

Sometimes I hide my compassion under a haze of loveless amnesia.

Oh how I make our separation hurt then.

I get to thinking, in those blurry moments, that I’ve never been there. I’ve never been that desperate, that unknowing, that vulnerable…

I get to pretending that I don’t know what it’s like to feel like you’ve fallen into a dream world full of giants who all have their shit together way more than you, and you can’t for the life of you remember how to wake up.

I know what that’s like.

I’m sorry for the moments I haven’t remembered that most salient of facts.

I’ve been there too.

I’ve been there, and I know that the last thing you need right now is some happy clappy camper lording it over you that they’ve never, ever, ever been as lost or empty as you.


We’ve all been there.

And the only thing that has ever been any salve to that wound is loving compassion.

Not sympathy – not jumping in the hole with you.

Loving compassion – shining my light down so you can see the foot-holes to climb your way out.

Loving compassion – bringing you treats and warm cups of tea.

Loving compassion.

Because I’ve been there. I’ve been there, and I trust implicitly, with even just a strong and steady light, you will find your way out.

Trust yourself.


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