I stew, seethe and sorrow. I am a woman.
I love.
There is a yearning. It penetrates the wall of silenced fear.
A slow ache, amorphous yet round all at once.
Closed circle.
I am broken. I was never really fixed.
It’s just that I feel the lack of a whole now.
I age.
No longer I bear the one way pouring.
What goes out must have a coming in.
I am sere.
My mind teases out strands of sense.
They float above my pavement feet.
I waver.
It is time to be honest, let it seep in.
Some people must die and go home.
To free me.
In the gaze of the other 
This knocked me over, the first sentence searing the front of my brain, the rest speaking more than words. Stirs a lot in me.
So glad you like it, my minimalist attempt.
I mean the first 3 sentences,…. as good as the opening to Moby Dick, similar in a way. Identifying, qualifying the narrator before the coming storm.
From your despairing soul. A brew of anguish and anger, uncertainty and anxiety, fear and desperation. A soul floating ebullient and free emanates a radiance that attracts other souls hoping to be enriched by its brilliance.
But a despairing soul withers. It turns away from light and lite; it searches for comfort within the corner of the dark box in which it cowers alone and frightened. It pities itself, desperate to release itself from itself.
Thanks for chiming in the despair theme 🙂