I once had a friend who, in her moment of despair, went hysterical and threw around these glass mugs that she had in her room. Everyone started backing off. Only I and her boyfriend stayed close. He stood beside her but didn’t know what to do. Everyone didn’t seem to know what to do. And that bothered me. It bothered me that people, for all their intelligence, their genius, their marvelous accomplishments, do not understand that when someone is crying, all they need is a hug. A word of comfort. A reassurance that they’re not alone. “I’m just here.” “I won’t leave you.” “It’s going to be all right.” These small tokens of affection. Small gestures.
The very essence of love is letting someone know that they’re not alone.
So I hugged her tight, and I felt her cling to the small window of comfort there is. I felt her sorrow drain away into mine until I found myself crying, too. I am no hero, no saint. But I am proud to say that I know how to feel for another soul. I choose to stay when everyone else has run away, fearful, resentful, ignorant of the very thing they, themselves, crave.
Perhaps this is one of the flaws of creation: we do not know how to give what we hope will be given to us.