Therapy Bits

FOWC With Fandango — Grounds – Facts, Fictions & Fantasies

The body remembers in echoes, like footsteps across empty grounds where once there was laughter. What was taken does not vanish; it rearranges itself into silence, into a trembling that hides beneath the skin. I speak in fragments because wholeness was shattered. There was a room, a voice, a hand that claimed what was not theirs, and I carry the weight of that theft like a second spine, crooked and burning.

Still, even in the ruins, I reach toward language, because words are small lanterns. To say what happened is to stand, trembling, against the shadow, to reclaim the shape of myself from the cage of shame. Love should never arrive as violence, but it did, and now I sift through memory like broken glass, sharp with both pain and survival.

And yet, I remain. The heart, stubborn in its beat, makes music even from grief. The grounds may still bear the scar, but from that scar a wildflower grows, fierce in its fragile bloom.