There's a little corner in Eusoff Hall.

It's a sad kind of corner.

In the last few weeks that I've seen that corner, there's always someone there, on the phone, looking lost, sounding sad, and unsure of why the world's coming down around their ears.

Sometimes it's someone new. Sometimes it's someone I've seen before.

Sometimes they're crying and the sniffling is loud enough to hear.

Sometimes in the words that they're half-whispering and half-screaming, it sounds like the only thing they're saying or asking is "why?"

It's a sad kind of corner.

But at least they still have someone to talk to.

I wonder sometimes if people give it any thought.

If you broke down piece by piece, do you know if there'd be anyone who'd hear those pieces shattering?


You won't cry.
They won't scream.
And no one will remember.