How foolish this seems. There are expressions of an empathetic nature. Out of these, a seemingly psychic experience where hidden thoughts and feelings can be touched.
Fumbling to create options in the dark, blindly groping for a direction to go towards without no knowledge of where a path could be, what may obstruct the way, if there could be anyone there to assist the journey.
Words merely have to be spoken, shared, with forthright honest intentions and with a grace known only to pollen in the wind, or being carried on a bee's body; the ease of sunlight shooting through millions of miles of space to warm a planet and enable life, a person will speak back, and remind you that to see the paths you can take, you only have to open your eyes. And with a clarity better than words can give, love will be given by going down that chosen path you picked; not followed nor lead, but traversed together.
Somethings, I know, are hard. Such as renouncing rigid insensitivity and narrowing down a search.
I know somethings are hard. I sense them. You unknowingly share them with your words. This world, with attentive care, holds steady your struggles to be seen, like a hummingbird jumping from flower to flower, freezing in the air at each as it picks a rich essence.
Somethings, I know, are hard. Such as renouncing rigid insensitivity and narrowing down a search.
Empathy, oh, empathy, what you give to me.
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