A graze, a gash, our collocation. If our proximity could be seen for what it was, and not just for what it seemed, would it make a huge difference? Over the following years, I have been learning how to be kind not out of love, but out of disappointment and perhaps a flickering, directionless spite. Yet, even with this much fire, I couldn’t find it in me to either extend or raise my hand.
I just close my eyes.
At some point, I learned that kindness is hardly something that can be proffered with just a strong belief and intent. At certain circumstances, there will be a price to pay. Sometimes I will, sometimes others will, and sometimes the very person on the receiving end will have to bear the full price.
And count I start.
Perhaps what I need to learn is not simply how to be kind, but how to weigh whether to count or not count.