An old coat still hanging on memory’s hook

I don’t know what this is, but it calms me.

This line didn’t speak to logic—it bowed to wonder.

My process is messy — my results are meaningful.

You wrote something that felt like safety.

Your words felt like shade in a too-bright moment.

You traced the outline of a wound I forgot was there.

This caption didn’t promise healing—it practiced it.

It’s the kind of softness that heals slowly.

This line flickers with a kind of familiar ache.

You wrote the space between what happened and what hurt.

This line healed something I didn’t know was bruised.