There is someone telling you that your misery is nothing compared to their own. You both stand in the suffocating heat, and you’re both exhausted and sore and dirty, and you’re both stuck in a godforsaken cornfield because you’re both terribly apathetic and couldn’t find any other possible job. Now you hoe weeds and tell each other about agony and loneliness.
“My mother is always telling me she should have had an abortion” you say, sweat dripping into your eyes, blisters forming on your hands from the tool you swing. He quickly counters with his own family problems, but you stop listening.
Because you know that pain is relative, and that everyone carries something, and that some people carry a lot more than others. And you wish you could be like a sponge, and you could soak up everyone’s sadness. Because you know you can survive. Your father did, barely. And now you will too. Thunder clouds start to block out the unbearable heat source.
“I want to save everyone” you say, but you know you cannot. Instead you love them, and you love them so much the love drags your heart down, and you heave that organ around like a ball and chain. The tears start to well up, and you hold them back, along with all the things you should be saying.
All the things you want to be saying.
“I just want to save you” he says, stopping the hoeing to take a better look at your face. He searches in your eyes for something, but your eyes are hallow and black and desolate. There is no answer there to give him.
Two voids, two pits, existing in your skull.
And it starts to rain, and the sweat and the tears and the water all mix together inside of those empty spaces to create something. You just don’t know what it is yet.