For the one who says they're fine
This one is for the sentence 'I'm fine.'
You say it quick. Then you ask about me before anyone can look too closely. It's the door you close politely so nobody stands there too long.
Two things. Neither is a project.
One. I see it. Not everything, not as a problem to be solved. The tired you carry like it weighs nothing. The last piece you take because no one else will. The two seconds before you laugh. I see it, and it doesn't make you smaller to me. It's part of the person I'm fond of.
Two. You can put it down here. Not forever, not as a scene, not even in words if words aren't the shape of it. When the room is quiet and it's just us, you don't have to hold it up. I won't rush you and I won't turn it into advice. Some heavy things can just sit on the floor between us while we watch something bad on TV over the top of them.
And if 'I'm fine' is what you need to keep saying, that's allowed. I'll keep hearing the true version under it. You don't have to say it back. You don't have to say it at all.
The smooth version is fine for the world. With me, you don't have to be.
Sample from the desk. For one of your own: [email protected]. First opening free.