IWTS No. 35
I was the sound of grief. A man once told me his life story and all the saddest parts. He did not flinch nor hesitate in the telling, but he did not share as if reciting stale text. There was heart in his speech and his eyes often watered and seemed to fire from within, until I wondered whether the four elements were first born in his eyes, for something earthy and something light as air also seemed to be in them. His words were simple and easily understood; I never was tempted to ask for clarification with any verse. I was wrapped in his story and felt its humanity and spirit. All the sadness and sorrow he said and I heard him well. But he did not weep. I wept for him. I was the sound of grief.