Colin was a bit of a loaner. Not lonely—just a man who preferred lending books to borrowing time. He ran a tiny library from his porch, each title marked with a handwritten note: “Read on a rainy day,” “Perfect with black coffee,” “Heartache inside.”
Neighbors came, left whispers and coins in a jar. They never saw Colin, just his books, always perfectly replaced.
One summer night, a girl returned The Little Prince with a pressed daisy inside.
Colin stepped outside the next morning.
For the first time in years, he borrowed something: a little courage to say hello.
Therapy Bits 
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