Therapy Bits

In the hush between two heartbeats,
a war resurfaces in my chest—
not fought with guns,
but with shadows,
etched in the marrow of memory.

A door slams—
and I’m back.
Not here, not now,
but then,
where breath meant silence,
and silence meant survival.

The world keeps turning—
the light, so careless, spills across the floor.
People laugh in rooms
I no longer enter.

I carry my nerves like broken glass,
wrap them in momentary calm,
until a noise, a glance,
a scent—
fractures the illusion
and I bleed again
in places no one sees.

Sleep is a battleground,
where dreams don’t heal—
they haunt.
And morning feels like
a truce never signed.

But I rise,
each day a defiant act,
a whisper:
I’m still here.

And though I walk with ghosts,
I also walk with hope—
fragile, flickering,
but mine.

RDP Tuesday! Momentary!