Say it once, then say it again.

You can empathize.

You can show compassion.

You can go to that world of yours,

You know the where you imagine all possibilities, good or bad.

And put my scenario on and push play.

You can dig through your past emotions and experiences you’ve experienced to muster up some fathomable words to whisper to me.

But for the sake of me,

For the sake of you,

For those who can relate,

Please take,

“I completely understand”

From your list of usable responses.

There couldn’t be anything further from the truth.

It is part of our being to want to take our loved one’s pain away and make it our own.

It is part of our being to want our friends and family to feel less alone,

to feel connected.

I understand this.

But I ask, please, do not use those words, unless you’ve gone through these troubles, experienced these pains, and felt these fears and shames.

If you’ve experienced the death of a loved one, you may relate your pain with my loss.

If your heart has been broken one time too many, share your scars while I pick up my broken pieces.

If you’ve suffered a permanent change, please tell me how you’ve coped with yours while I still fight against accepting my own.

I don’t know if you realize, but there are actual people out there that do understand what I’m going through.

It’s not fair of you to say you understand what you haven’t experienced yourself.

So for now it’s,

“I can only imagine…”

“I don’t even know…”

“I wish I could relate…”

Telling me you completely understand, when you don’t…

Well it just lessens your authenticity.

I like words. I like reading writing. I like writing.

Don’t get me wrong, I like looking at a pretty sunset or a cute puppy just as much as the next guy. But I look at a picture and I get one feeling, one interpretation, one perspective, one reaction. But when I read words. The phrases, sentences. The structure, the word choice, the grammar, the fluidity, the punctuation (ohhhh, the punctuation). I see possibilities, mystery. It peeks my curiosity. I read it once. Maybe once more. And again. I reread it with variation of tone and voice and different pauses. I get a different feeling, interpretation, perspective, reaction, each time.

I see words as the mind’s work. They’re an inlet into the writer’s world. It’s the soul talking.

Sometimes I want to frown on purpose because I love watching you try to make me smile.

Some days, and nights… I write so much.

Whether it’s on scraps of papers. In pen. In sharpie. In pencil.

On the computer. In a notebook. My words are everywhere.

Next few posts are gonna be me trying to put it all in one place… I apologize. >.<