My heart bleeds. I know not of your pain, but of knowing that i do not know. For your pain must be so great, i have not felt it. all i can offer are my unimaginable empathies for your sorrows. the hope that the good will overcome the weight of the bad. that all will believe in the infinities of love’s conquering. we must find it in ourselves to nurture the unwanted. to pay attention most to those who are never accounted for. the last person in the line. the quietest person in the crowd. They also know of a pain that i do not know. and my heart, it bleeds, for i know not of the pain, nor of the pain they have caused in others. Perhaps the only pain, which is mutually understood is that of the bullet and the strings of the heart. all that was once inside, ferociously executing the beauties of innocence. The loss of ones own innocence, the loss of another’s. as a parallel into ones own world. all which could have been so delicately prevented through the clarities of love and laughter. but then again, i do not know.