row pony I cracked under your response to happy_birthday_pony, not because it was remotely the most devastating experience I've ever written about, but perhaps because I hadn't intended to write it at all - in fact I fought myself about it for weeks - and yet it spilled out of me in a desperate and lonely moment, on the night of my birthday indeed, and I didn't write it to find a reader, although it did anyway, and you responded with the kind of recognition that can only be interpreted as empathy in a pure, stripped down form. I haven't written anything since that, until this. I think I'm still getting used to the idea that writers I adore and relate to can exist beyond printed pages, and are as close as the other side of a screen, and sometimes we're even lucky enough to touch hands through mutual curse words, the way I've always lived my lonely life feeling authors reach out through pages with no idea whom they're even reaching toward. 240418 ... releaseofwarmth I'm glad to know it matters. It feels good to be seen. Even better to be understood. Though that's much harder. We often have to settle for being accepted in leiu of being understood. But that's more important anyway isn't it? Empathy? Well, I try to be but maybe not in this case as empathy implies relatability. Certainly I can't relate to your situation by any measure. And not sympathy either, that implies condescension to me. I think just compassion, and a respect for resilience of character and the scars one carries, and an appreciation for the ability and the courage to tell a compelling (heart_rending) story while also telling the truth. And more than anything just giving credit where credit's due. To support, isn't that what community is for? 240419 what's it to you? who go blather from