She Didn't Listen

She was struggling. Crumbling. Broken.
I sat next to her and told it it would all be ok.
She didn't listen. 

I wrapped my arms around her. I told her that she was strong. That she had just lost her way. That it will all be ok soon.
She cried.
She still didn't listen.

I wiped her tears. I brushed my hand gently, comforting, down her face.
Her breathing grew heavy and fast.
I told her to be calm, to count ​to ten. 

She didn't listen.

I held her. I told her to just let it all out.
She talked about how alone she felt, how she felt like a failure.
How she doesn't feel like she can cope with life anymore.
I told her she isn't alone.
That other people feel the same.
But she didn't listen.

I rubbed her back and held her hand.
I wanted her to know I was there, to feel me next to her.
But she couldn't.
She was so consumed in the darkness.

Unable to hear.
Unable to see.