Expressing a kind of sorrow only found in works of fiction: How do I do it? A character from a novel I read over the summer comes to mind everytime I feel a kind of weakness. It’s not mental or physical, but it is as intangible as one can get. Let me explain:
She is a girl who is good — of a completely clear heart and crystalline intentions. She works hard, loves harder and knows that, in the end, all will be fine. But everyday she falls just a bit more. Why? I know, but I can’t tell. It’s not my place to tell. It’s not my place to interfere. And so I let it go and watch her fall even more.
Until she’s hit the ground. And then I turn around and realize, “Someone should have done something — anything — to save her.” An absence of life fills me afterward: It’s as if I’ve lost my own heart.
And I just may as well have.