Angels

Sitting in the counselor's office,
eyes tracing the beige walls,
watching his words spill out like loose gravel,
never quite paving the way.

Time will soften, he said.
Time will heal,
Talk it out,
Tell me how you feel.
Trite platitudes that meant nothing
to a girl whose childhood was fucked—
literally, if I may—
sorry for being so blunt.

Seven years of counseling,
and where did it get me?
Standing on a railing,
looking down at the pavement
a hundred feet below.
Just one more step...

Angels are real.
I know, because I met one.
Some would say it was just a random crossing of paths,
but I know better.
The universe stepped in,
when no one else could,
put him there, in that exact spot,
on that exact night,
for a reason.

Are you okay?

It seemed like such an obvious question,
with such an obvious answer,
when a girl is standing on a railing,
looking down at the pavement
a hundred feet below.
But no one ever asked it before.
And it made me laugh.

He sat on the railing beside me,
no words, no platitudes, just listening,
holding my eyes like a silent promise,
his gentle hand reaching out like I mattered.
It was the simplest thing,
but it was everything.

In that moment,
something shifted,
like sunlight through trees,
and for the first time ever,
I felt understood.