Therapy Bits

I go back,
through corridors of memory
where the wallpaper is peeling
and the air smells like chalk dust and rain.

A small voice waits there,
barefoot,
clutching silence like a threadbare toy.

I kneel,
and the years between us collapse—
all the careful disguises,
all the heavy masks I’ve worn
so no one would notice
the trembling.

Her eyes search mine,
asking if it’s safe now.
And I whisper—yes,
it is time.

No sirens, no flashing lights.
Just the steady pulse of a heart
willing to open its hands.

This is the rescue:
not storming in,
but staying long enough
to gather her shadows,
to carry her laughter back
into my chest,
where it belongs.

And when she slips her hand into mine,
the ground feels softer,
as though the earth itself
has been waiting for us
to walk home together.

rescue – The Daily Spur