She sits in a movie theatre and watches the main character die
from the last row
from the left most seat
a tragic death that seems to shake the entire audience
except her. The movie ends and she descends the steps
one by one
her face is dry.
She comes back and sits in her bed
She sits in the silence and watches another movie
whose screen exists between pages of a book
a spine whose binding is flimsy.
She starts to cry
for people she's never met
whose faces she has never seen
whose parents she has never met
whose hands she has never held
That's compassion for humanity.
Her hands are bloody
the skin are her nails is destroyed
from stress and agitation.
He holds them firmly and says
I love you despite your flawed hands.
hesitates, backtracks, and recants his words
I love you for your flawless hands
and your capricious emotions
and the way you deal with your feels
that your hands display the message
receive the clemency.
She goes back to the kitchen
tea or coffee?
glass or mug?
pinky or no?
Suddenly, she remembers the war
Anguish and fury rush back to sting her
Her hands are warm and she watches the color slowly disperse.
Placidity counters the fury.
Sympathy balances the anguish.
Her hands are warm, but her heart is worn.
Her mind is lethargic
She lets it all go
imagines it floating away
out of sight, out of mind
All of her efforts are spent
wasted on impotence and structural barriers
She wants to care, but she just can't afford to anymore.
- inspired but not really much more aligned with the Daily Prompt