Apartment — Tuesday 11:46 am

I'm standing by the window, watching people as they pass. Most are immersed in their phones but across the street there's a boy.

He has a red balloon in his hand. He's laughing as he runs with it. He looks back every couple seconds, watching it bob up and down.

His joy warms me. Such a simple thing, yet it brings so much happiness.

Suddenly, he trips and falls to the ground. He's crying but he doesn't get up. He doesn't move. Just sits there and weeps and looks at the sky where the balloon is floating away.

All that happiness...

Gone.

His mother runs over. "Are you hurt?" She runs a hand over him to check. Then she scoops him up, hugging him close to her chest. "It's okay," she murmurs, stroking his hair. "We'll get another one. It's okay."

Her words unleash something in me. I can feel it growing, burning as it spreads through my conscious.

I'm tired of being empty.

I want someone to care.

I want someone to tell me it's okay.

And I think most of all...I want someone to listen.