I use to be That One.

"Go ahead,
You can trust me.
Don't worry,
I won't tell a soul."

Crushes.
Relationships.
Friends.
Drama.

Anything was my specialty.
Everything was my specialty.
All anyone needed to do was ask;
And they did.

Friends.
Family.
Acquaintances.
Even strangers.

The average adolescent is inexperienced, this is true.
The question arises well before maturity:
"Does he like me?"
Or even better:
"Will he ask me out?"
Both eventually lead to the desperate inquiry:
"What should I do?"

To which I calmly answer:
"Do what you want to."

Of course, I don't sound so harsh.
I walk the acquaintance through the steps: 
What they can do, what to expect.
It can grow into a long process.

I listen.
I advise.
I help.
I comfort.

Internally, I question, "Why come to me?"

The stranger is satisfied, and I'm rewarded with appreciation,
Which is enough.
I want to help.
Honestly, I do;

But that smile I return to every faceless being,
That same smile each "session,"
Grows more and more exhausted
As more of me is drained.

Don't get me wrong,
I want to help.

Honestly, I do;

But must the person that everyone comes to, feel so

Tired?

Terrible?

Alone?