The Importance of Listening

I knew what kind of life was meant for me since I saw how life was treating others. I saw their fears, I heard their sighs, and I felt their lips smiling but their eyes doing the other. 
Life kept them all in its grips. I saw and heard them whispering. I listened, and I understood what the words meant, and I could feel their meanings too. 
And so I came to know about their struggles with their cheating partner, the emotional betrayal and suffering and with that, also about the question of what it meant for them and their children. And so I came to know about their worries with the cancer getting worse and that the treatment didn’t really take as expected and with that, also about the question of what it meant for them and their relationship. And so I came to know about their fights too. Fights about possessions and the wondering if the visit to the court would rule in favor for both parties for a change and with that, also about the question if it meant for them to finally put it to rest. 
I knew that kind of Life. That harsh, ruling and unforgiving deafening sound pretending to be its melody. I saw that they just kept going and that they just couldn’t stop, living Life, considering that’s just what it was. I saw them spinning, confusing it with dancing. 
I understood because Time is money and Money can buy time but right now, they are struggling to find an answer in living with neither. I understood and I still do. I do because they needed it since their pain and their feelings were real. Real to them and real to me. But my pain and my feelings, then and now, were real to me too. Yet in The Fight of Life and me fighting for mine, it came second. And therefore, Now isn’t a good time to talk turned the Now into Never and talking into forgetting. 

And so I stopped calling and didn’t tell them about my pain and the optimism that escaped me because their lives were hard enough as they were. I understood because I knew utter stress and chaos too. Everything became serious and everything with me in it just seemed to get complicated and increasingly inconvenient. 
Life became serious and Life with me in it just seemed to get exhausting and increasingly annoying. Especially for others. Especially for them thinking of having to find an answer to my questions, problems, even, and then surprisingly learning that it was never what I actually needed. All I ever wanted was to be understood because all I ever wanted was for others to be understood too. And so I came to understand The Importance of Listening rather than The Importance of Questioning.

Yes, and so I listened when I was told that saying nothing would be better. Better because not reacting would eventually calm the storm and would mean for the dark clouds to slowly pass by. Creating a scene surely isn’t something worthwhile and so would be standing out for all the wrong reasons since defending yourself would mean to grab attention for all the wrong reasons too. 
And so I didn’t do anything when they stepped on my toes because moving my foot would have meant for them to stumble. Yes, and so I listened and didn’t call him Dad because he wasn’t and because his children did not approve. They didn’t approve even though Dad did Dad Stuff until I was 7. Yes, and so I didn’t say anything either when their words cut my sentence in half, because I was taught that The Last Word was never mine to have.