I find my refuge in the fold
of paper worlds, where stories hold
a gentle hand, a softened light,
that carries me through endless night.
The kettle sighs, the chair leans back,
time slips between each printed track.
No need for journeys far or grand—
a book can build another land.
Each sentence hums, each chapter sings,
of hidden doors and secret things.
And as I turn, the world grows still,
a hush that bends to word and will.
No stress remains, no shadows stay,
when ink and thought can lead the way.
My favorite peace, my sweetest art:
a book that opens up the heart.
Therapy Bits 
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