and i will try to fix you;

words are my thing. for as long as i can remember, words have been my thing. i have journals chronicling my childhood. my dreams, my ups and downs, my first love, everything, scribbled on lines in a once-wordless book with a worn cover to prove it. and i have notes in my phone with words i don’t have the guts to say out loud, but need to write down just in case and notes in my phone with quotes i want to remember because i think one day they might help me through something i can’t even see coming, yet. getting the words out and putting them in the right order and making them make sense – that’s how i deal. with life, with problems, with happiness. i sort it all out in front of me. i write it all down. i remember things better this way.

words give me hope that a moment can be remembered forever and that sadness and hopelessness can be washed away by the wisdom and the love and the thought that others have put into their words.

helping has always been my thing. taking people under my wing, trying to fix them. i guess it’s the oldest sibling in me, the protectiveness in me. i was raised to help take care of them. to babysit them when my parents were gone for the night. to send them off to school when my parents were gone for the week. i fought hard for them when they were being bullied by kids in the neighborhood. i jumped to their defense when people criticized them, belittled them, told them they couldn’t do things. i was there for them. because they could do things. all of the things.

i listened. i gave advice when asked for it, and sometimes when i wasn’t asked for it. but i do know that i was there for them. so maybe, being there for people is my thing, too.


so what do you do when the heartbreak of another consumes you so fully? i haven’t known him long, only a few months, but i feel like i could love him. the more time we spend together, the more i realize it’s been years since i’ve felt that “stomach dropping through your chair” feeling before seeing any boy. he makes me laugh. he makes me forget.

and then tragedy strikes, and a life is taken too soon, and his heart is broken by the loss of a friend who will no longer open her eyes. he’ll never look down at his ringing phone and see her phone number reflecting back. he’ll never get another pregame, pep-talk text. he’ll never again see her smile. she stopped breathing. and now she’s gone.

and i feel like i could be there for him, if i were given the chance. because i’ve been there, where he is.

there was a boy. and now there isn’t. and he’ll never again open his eyes. and i’ll never look down at my ringing phone and see his phone number reflecting back. and i’ll never get that next text. and i’ll only ever see his smile in pictures. he stopped breathing. and now he’s gone.

so i know. i have known that heartbreak.

and i try to remember what people did for me because i want to make it easier for him. i want to show him all the good things in life. i want to be the person to make him belly laugh. because laughing helps and i want to help. after all, that’s my thing.

but i can’t think of anything funny.

so what do i do when my words fail me? when i can’t quite find the right combination to make things better, to help? words have always helped me.

so what happens when i can’t find the right ones to help others?