I can’t save you, but I can try.
I can give you encouragement, and I can show you love. I can help you understand your rage, where it’s born, where it hides, and how to escape its awful clutch.
—But only if you spit that bitter anger from your mouth.
I can’t carry your pains, but I can cry.
I can see your sufferings, and I can weep with you by your side. I can share the sorrows I’ve felt, the mistakes I’ve made, and how to realize the utter uselessness of regret.
—But only if you refuse that bitter-sweet melancholy.
I can’t endure your trials, but I can guide.
I can tell you of the twisting, winding paths, and I can whisper of the infinite places they’ll lead. I can warn you of pitfalls to avoid, the struggles worth enduring, and the pure freedom that comes from accepting yourself.
—But only if you understand that all paths are one and the same.
I can’t be here forever, but I can die.
I can hold your hand, and I can see your streaking tears. I can do my best to offer solace, to see the way of things, and to accept the beauty of it all.
—But only if you’ll believe me.