I count the quiet hours new and old and look occasionally to my inbox.
It's your moment to unfold,
moments unravelling, such a detox.
I know you're there pulling up the pieces.
Sometimes the words are heavy, a jagged edge.
Like thinking up a meaningful thesis.
Safety is the only thing to look for,
may you find that space with opened doors.
I will not knock or demand a reply,
I won't ask you to match my step or pace.
Just know my anchor waiting for you, says I...
holding down our usual space.
Take all the winters that you're spirt needs. To heal the bruises, that the world put there.
I'll always be here waiting in the open air.