What I want most
The tears burst out of me.
Unfortunately, it was a public place.
I cried anyway, forgetting my embarrassment.
I cried in the waiting room,
cried while walking,
cried while waiting for the elevator,
and cried as I walked down the stairs.
Some women nearby—though I could not see them—
seemed to pause their conversations.
I could feel their quiet consideration for me.
I was grateful.
They were honoring the sadness of a stranger they did not even know.
Then, while crying, I realized something.
I needed someone to speak for me.
That must be why I had been speaking for others for so long.
Since childhood, whenever there was a weaker child,
I would stand up for them.
I would argue for them.
I would fight for them.
Memories related to this flickered past like a lantern in the dark.
I saw myself—frightened, yet trying so hard.
I felt tenderness for that version of me.
So that was it.
You needed someone to speak for you.
All this time,
you had been giving others
the very thing you most wanted to receive.
My breathing slowly settled.
So that was it.
So that was it.
So that was it.
That was what you wanted most.