Dusk had bled into the night, the moon was out, and shadows roamed.
My roommates were all soundly asleep—or so I presumed—as I was laying straight on my back, wide awake, trying to find rest in a restless world.
For hours, silence and quiet sighs of breath had ruled over the room.
That was until, above me, I heard the faint sound of muffled sobs.
Somebody must've been crying, face buried in their pillow, to honor the quiet of night.
Armin.
I contemplated what to do. If it was my place to do anything at all.
I just met the boy. It wasn't exactly my place to tend to his bedside or poke at his wounds.
Not to mention I was no good at it. I had no problem speaking my mind, but matters of the heart were fundamentally different. They were softer. Muddy. Unpolished and unshaped.
Feelings weren't cut up clean into argument-sized portions. They were messy and all over. I never knew how to handle them, other than letting them linger, until they left on their own terms.
I learned it was best not to interact whenever they arrived. Make a mental note, let them roam for a while, and then let them go. They weren't rational, and they got you nowhere.
And I would know. My feelings swept like tidal waves, whenever they arrived. I never tried to fight them. No use. I let them wage and burst, until they burned themselves out.
I couldn't help my own emotions. I never have been able to. Other people, however, were a different story.
If I wanted to, I could take care of them. I could look after people. I could fix things for them. I wasn't always gentle in my pursuits, but when I wanted to solve the world for someone, I would. I did.
