Therapy Bits

It comes
not with thunder,
but like a whisper you forgot to answer.
A quiet weight behind the ribs,
settling in like fog at dusk.

I do not cry.
There is no drama,
only the hum of fluorescent lights
and a cup of coffee that tastes like silence.

Blue,
not the sky,
but the kind that lingers in the seams
of yesterday’s sweater—
the one you never meant to wear again,
but did.

It’s in the mirror’s glaze,
the hush between songs,
the question you meant to ask
but swallowed like a stone.

I go on,
because that’s what days do.
But some part of me
sits at the bottom of the ocean,
watching light break
and never quite reach.

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