Naive Misery

This poem I wrote as a reflection of something I’ve experienced a few times. I remember attending funerals for people I had never met before, but feeling so much sorrow because everyone around me was mourning. Empathy is both a gift, and a curse.

Naive Misery:

Sitting on those cold auburn benches

Staring

I watch you, unwilling to believe there is no breath there

Stillness

And I cry with my tears rolling rivers onto my trembling fingers

Regret

But these tears do not fall from loss, rather, at never knowing you

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