Words That Hold You Without Fixing You

I never meant for my words
to be solutions.
They are not prescriptions,
not promises that the ache will end.

They are offerings.
Soft shapes
to curl around your grief.
Room made sacred
for whatever you're still carrying.

This isn’t advice.
This is presence.
This is sitting beside you in the dark
and saying,
“I’m here.
I see it too.”

My words do not rush.
They do not press.
They don’t try to name what hurts
if you haven’t named it yet.

They hold.
That’s all.
And maybe that’s enough.

To feel seen
without being dissected.
To feel understood
without being instructed.

This is the gentleness
I needed once,
and couldn’t find.
So now I build it
line by line,
for you,
for me,
for the girl who still shakes
when someone tells her
how to heal.

I don’t write to fix you.
I write to remind you
that you are already whole,
even in your breaking.

That pain can sit beside you
without needing to be evicted.

That sometimes
the kindest thing in the world
is knowing someone else
isn’t afraid
of your sadness.