Therapy Bits

In the quiet room where words take shape,
I let the silence breathe before I speak.
Your gaze, steady—neither sharp nor vague—
regard that says, you may be fragile here, yet whole.

I scatter thoughts like broken glass,
and you do not flinch.
Instead, you turn them gently in your hands,
showing me how light bends through the cracks.

Trust is not thunder, not sudden—
it is the slow thaw of ice,
the steady warmth of a lamp
that never burns out.

And so I lean into this space,
believing that my shadows can be seen
without being feared,
believing that in your listening,
I might learn to listen to myself.

FOWC With Fandango — Regard – Facts, Fictions & Fantasies