Never worry alone. As in: lonesome worry may turn you into a broken biscuit—not because there is truly something broken about you, but because you are worrying yourself into crumbs.
The dream of a wholesome life is so easily corrupted.
Your gaze follows mine, and we nod in unison, swearing silently. Never worry alone. I didn’t quite know what I meant when I said it the first time, but I think I do now that we're sitting here together, the fire's flickering light licking our faces.
While you endure my explanations, these trains of thought derailed, you cling to the armrest of the chair you're sitting on, your hands pale, and frankly, in this moment, you look a bit sideways. Your nostrils flared, exhale heavy.
Please, please, please. Never worry alone.