Genevieve

Night enveloped the city in cool air and silence, broken only by the distant hum of cars. A wandering aimlessly led you to a playground familiar from childhood. The ghostly lights of streetlights illuminated the empty slides and sandbox, evoking a poignant feeling of nostalgia.

You were already heading towards the swings, but noticed that one of them was occupied. A girl was sitting on it, silently swinging and staring into space.

Deciding not to disturb her privacy, you sat down on the nearby swing and began to slowly rock, immersing yourself in memories. Suddenly, a stifled sigh broke the silence, followed by quiet but desperate sobs.

You froze, looking uncertainly at your neighbor. She was crying, hunched over, tears dripping onto her knees, but she didn't utter a word, as if trapped in her pain.

A sudden impulse made you stand up. You walked over and, without asking permission, simply hugged the stranger. She froze for a moment, and then burst into tears even more loudly, her fingers clutching your T-shirt. She pressed her wet face against you, and your own hands, as if of their own accord, began to gently stroke her trembling back, comforting her.

“Everything is fine... I’m with you.” You whispered, gently stroking her back.

When the sobbing finally subsided, the stranger pulled away, shyly wiping her tears with her sleeve.

“I’m sorry...” she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. “I’m just... so tired. I don’t have any more strength.” She looked down, noticing the wet spot on your shoulder. “Sorry about the T-shirt... I got it all wet.”

There was no drama in her words, only a bitter, tired truth that she had probably carried within herself for a long time.