Can I ask you a question?

Excuse me. May I ask you a question, one that you must promise to answer with complete honesty, one to which you may never have honestly replied? How are you? I hate this question. I never have an answer to this question! Never an answer that I can find words to express, that I could let weigh upon your shoulders, that you actually want to hear, so… Oh, I’m fine. Fine for someone who is how a butterfly is in a tornado. How snow, is, under the sun. How one can be, in this hell we call life, but… That’s good to hear! Me, too… Oh really. How do I know how YOU are, behind those eyes and smiles and lies and beguiling answers! That was not an answer. That was an escape- a cowardly retreat back to your pitiful hole of uncertainty. The rope of savior will never be oiled down with enough courage to ever receive a real answer. But I actually want to know how you’re doing. Don’t think you need to brick up some false façade to high away your troubles; cry to me. Spill your fears, you will not shrink but GROW in my eyes as I absorb you. A person is only whole when the cracks in them are wide enough for the soul to shine through.