"it's just a bad day, not a bad life" I say

to the shuddering form in my arms;

she's sobbing, terrified of her overwhelming hopelessness.

"Your current situation is not your final destination" 

I say over the phone late one night,

carefully coaxing him to put the gun down again.

I will never run out of reasons why they shouldn't give up.

Yet when it's me huddled on the bathroom floor stifling sobs,

none of my usual words can do the trick.

No matter what I say,

the voice, the words, the soul that saved so many others disappears

and I always fail to save myself.