Not quite comfort

I think the glass distorts
The shadows on your wrists.
Perhaps I am wrong, but
The same shadows are deep
In the folds under your eyes,
And it's understandable, your fear,
If you are quite this unknowing
As to where you'll be
This time next now. Here,
Have a tissue, have a word,
Here I am for your comfort
In the chair across from you
That can never be mine.
This fragile understanding
Arises only because you wish
It could be someone else
Drying your careless tears.