I have yet to meet a feeling more fickle

Than the grief of another

And the accompanying certainty

That she does not want my help

The tears of a sister-in-arms, once loosed

For the injustice of the world

For the world itself

Fall like acid rain on the shoulders of relations;

We stand by.

We are so cold and so awkward

All gingerness and uncertainty once we step outside

We know no grief (only guilt)

Because our companion's tears are the injustice

Not the sunshine