i envy people who can talk away their problems. to them, words are carriers that send a piece of their problems away with every muttered sentence until, with the beginning of a sob, words run out and the physical manifestation of grief takes over.
but where do the little pieces of their problems go? surely they land somewhere? a passing ear, perhaps? or, if delivered through a prayer, into the hands of God?
what if they accumulated in the minds of the people who listen to the streams of troubled words that come out of a person’s mouth? if someone who talks away his problems can feel lighter after pouring his heart out to a friend, what’s stopping that friend from feeling a little heavier after listening, even if he did so willingly?
i just envy people who can talk away their problems. i sure can’t.