Like rain over a desert—
it falls quietly,
sinking into the earth,
leaving no trace behind...
Others’ grief.
It glimmers
in the hesitation before the words,
in the emptiness flickering in a mother라이브 바카라 gaze,
in the calculations of a laborer at the end of a day,
in the stillness of a stray animal sensing danger,
in the silence that settles over a house at dusk.
How do we bear the weight of others’ sorrow?
How do we cradle its fragile form in our arms?
How do we erase its salt-stung touch?
It drifts in the air like dust,
settling invisibly upon our skin,
exhaling its quiet scent.
No garment that life weaves
can shield us from the ache of another라이브 바카라 pain.
It is a strange mural,
a walk through the day with no shadow to follow.
It is an uncontainable movement,
like the single tear at the edge of a fading smile.
My weary heartstrings tighten,
my delicate bones coil inward,
my trembling fingers falter—
what can I say of the soft grief of others?
When so many words,
so much noise,
so much reason
have already swallowed
every digit on the clock?
