For thinking your load of pain is unique,
Mistaking your tears as proof of your truth,
Feeding your spirit with lamentations;
Crying for the moon as if it owes you
For the unjust weight of loneliness,
The grief you have to bear.
Fool, be wise—
Take comfort in knowing you're not alone:
Sorrow shares its story on the oldest maps,
Its route rehearsed by every aching cliché
Breaking in the heart of every traveller.
And though you’re lost, know too that loss
Is not the measure of your worth.