I realised I was trying - hoping, really - that I could pass some of it along. Out of the red hot pile of coals in my chest, its fumes rising to my nose and eyes, I was hoping to take one or two and give them away. 

It doesn't, maybe, work that way. After all, if I just sit and look deeply, there are no burning coals. There is nothing to pass on. Only my aching heart.

I guess I can't give that away in bits and pieces.