On True Sorrow

You trivialize your sorrows by speaking of them with empty words in the presence of empty listeners. You are children still, and hypocrites, fearful still of what you cannot comprehend. Those who know true sorrow are silent, and wise, for they know that no words can communicate the experience, and no mockery of empty words can abate its memory. To feel true sorrow is not, as some would claim, a basic human capacity. Basic humans can only know basic sorrows, and their basic sorrows are rightly spoken of with basic words. True character is the prerequisite of true sorrow, and rare is the person of true character.

Would you have me sympathize? Would you defend your anguish before my eyes? Then withhold from me your secret. Reject and rebuke my sympathy. Scorn my questioning eyes; scorn more my gentle touch. Bear your burden alone, as it must be born, and rather, demonstrate to me that you have grown capable to withstand its oppression, that you have transcended its crushing weight.

Then will I know that you, as I, have known true sorrow. Then will I know that you, as I, have surpassed its deathly embrace.

Until then, child, learn your place. Learn that you have but begun the journey of life, that others have tread down roads unimaginable to you.

And, when those spectres pass before you, silence your foolish words, hold your insolent tongue, respect the dead.

You do not know when death may visit you.