Therapy Bits

It comes like dusk with heavy hands,
Unbidden through the hourglass sands.
A hush that wraps the soul in gray,
And steals the morning light away.

The heart forgets the sound of peace,
Its rhythm slowed, its joy on lease.
Each breath a stone, each step a chore,
The self you knew—there is no more.

The world still spins, untouched, intact,
While you dissolve, a silent act.
You wear a smile, a practiced lie,
But weep where none can see you cry.

No comfort finds the hollowed chest,
No dream can offer gentle rest.
You ache for what you cannot name,
A shadow grief without a flame.

And yet, within this silent flood,
A stubborn pulse, a spark of blood.
Though bent and bruised by sorrow’s weight,
The soul endures. It dares. It waits.

For even storms must lose their sound,
And seeds of light break through the ground.
But in this hour, you grieve, you drown—
A monarch lost without its crown.

And that’s okay. Just breathe. Be still.
Let sadness come, and have its fill.
It does not mean you’re weak or wrong—
It means your heart has just been strong.