Only the Walls See Him Cry

His voice started and stopped with the raindrops

on the window. Aimless and hesitant, he gave up,

“I can’t seem to express the emptiness I feel.”

A silence ensued. The rain ceased. He paced wildly.

I searched for something to say– a magic phrase

that would make him okay– but a drowning man

can’t help another drowning man, so I spoke shallow,

“Don’t worry. You’ll be all right…

Things will get better.”

And sometimes they do, though I had no personal proof.

Sniffles from the dorm’s corner dampened distant rumbles

of thunder. Turning to me, he flashed a half-smile

that couldn’t conceal veins of lightning in his eyes.

A groundswell, held back valiantly,

had finally reached the shore. What I said next

didn’t matter– the kid who used to chase sunsets

on cloudy days was gone, his stuttered breaths fading

down the hall like a storm moving slowly across the plains.