When I remember them, those whose paths crossed mine, I remember their shoulders.
How sloping, sagging flesh and blood felt beneath my grip, as my arms held on as tightly as I could, like I was trying to keep the life underneath the bone and skin from falling apart.
Sometimes broad, deceptively sturdy.
Other times narrow, blades sharp under an inadequate armor.
Carrying the weight of the world, and failing.
And now-you’re out there.
Angry. Afraid. Misunderstood.
Needing someone to hold you together.
And I only wish I could.