"I felt too much, he didn't."

Those words were a tale alone. The story of a girl, that loved and lived, only to be discarded and left to die. Broken and unable to pull herself together, she staggered on, carrying the weight of the world on her battered shoulders.

When she first told me the story, she spoke with sparkling eyes, as though relieving the good in the world. Her face darkened with every passing sentance, the memories running with more cruel bite, dripping with venom.

I could feel her emotions through her words, flowing as swiftly as a river. And I felt undeniable sympathy for this girl, who should have no reason to despair, but held the burden of Atlas.

She spoke, "I need not be hurt, I am strong. But the crushing load of his words was almost too much to bear." And then she smiled, but it was a smile filled with tears, with unspoken pleas. She wanted a friend. So that is what I would be.

'He' in our story was a boy that she once thought she knew, a boy with name and face. She told me she would never again utter his name. If she could not smile with fondness at the thought of him, neither would she scream with hatred.

I listened as she spoke, quieter with every word, unable to form sentences that could impact her as deeply as this experience had. And finally, as she concluded, she thanked me.

She felt lighter, she exclaimed, a true grin growing on her face. The sight gave way to my happiness, although my heart ached with the pain that she would cry over him... And not me.

Giving me a final embrace, she walked away, and I stared after her, wishing that I could have told her what I felt, what I could have been to her. But I didn't.

And, I said,

"You felt too much... But I feel, too."