My special gift

I feel sometimes like I have this special ability to see people’s pasts on them like unwanted clothes. I just like to observe, to watch them walk around trying to pretend they aren’t wearing it, that nothing bothers them. Sometimes I see people’s eyes like clocks, waiting to explode on cue because nothing in their life is right. Nothing has ever been right. 

I see them hang their head. A pile of unwanted memories and words and feelings so heavy they have no choice. 

I see their heartbeat, a little pulse in the shake of their fingers, because at least  that way they know they are alive. 

I see the pretty little lines of scars they’ve left on their arms, their wrists, hoping to warn others of their instability, the insatiable pain that keeps them up at night. 

I feel their aura, see the ghosts behind their eyes hoping that someone in the world would take notice. 

The other week I served a table of three little kids (two boys and a girl) and their assumed parents. I say assumed because I assumed they were their parents but I wasn’t sure. When I went to the table to take their order, the adults were arguing, and the children were practically begging for their attention and they were just ignored. Some deep part of me felt like it wasn’t the first time this had happened to them. Every time I walked over to the table the little girl said outrageous things to try to get my attention. The little boys did too. 

Something in me broke. I went to the kitchen and cried. Felt like they were sat in my section for a reason. I wished I could tell the girl how pretty she is, and not to let someone take her down in the future for who she is. I wanted to tell the boys that they could be powerful men. I did my best to make the children feel special. But it’s people like that I see. I feel them. Somehow I feel like God gave me the ability to sense things. To feel people’s pain. To understand that someone should be there for them, and no one is. I consider it a blessing. 

But to be honest, I wish I could wash the world of the hurt, of the numbing pain, of this loud world where people bump into each other daily but no one knows those around them because no one cares to. 

My heart breaks. Daily. 

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