I can't help you if you won't let me

I can’t help you if you won’t let me.

Your words come out in a rush; anxious, downtrodden, and depleted. Sorrow grips you, its icy fingers leaving trails of desolation in tracks down your cheeks.

I hear you. I listen to your sad songs of a broken heart and battered ego; of love that’s long since forgotten you, and wounds that won’t heal.

But I can’t help you if you won’t let me.

It has no mercy, this thing you suffer from. It’s like a cancer spreading. Insensitive whispers slither in your ear, sliding down your throat. It stings like venom in your veins, leaving you immobilized.

I watch you sink into a black hole to where it is hard for me to find you.

But I would recognize those blue eyes anywhere. Don’t you recognize mine? They still search for you in the darkness. They still reach for you in the despair. It is my voice that calls out to you.

But I can’t help you if you won’t let me.

I will tell you a secret. Sometimes life is about change. You have become comfortable in the shadows. It has made its home in you until all you know is its darkness. It has coiled itself around you, until you and it have become one.

But I still see you as the girl with the yellow flower behind her ear, plucked from a sunny garden on a lazy afternoon. I know you're still there beneath the cobwebs and misery, eager for sunshine.

I want you to know that comfort could be just around the corner…or the very next. Won’t you take the chance? Why do you feel so unworthy? 

Because you are. Worthy, that is. You.

My hand is here reaching out into the darkness that you bathe in. Can you see it?

I love you. But I can’t help you if you won’t let me.