They said you were wrong. They don’t remember doing the thing that hurt you. They wrote the thing, signed the letter, spoke the harmful words.
You are smashed, ripped open, raw.
I promise, precious one, you are going to be OK. It’s going to be good, again. No winning, no losing. But a good fierce OK.
Listen to the rain or windchimes or a slow, gentle drum.
Taste the sweet honey or the tart berry or the steaming tea with the bracing bergamot.
Hold your pup or your grandchild. Soak in a hot tub with the good bubble bath, the one you’ve been saving.
Breathe way down to your toes. Notice that the water in the river right in this moment is out to sea tomorrow. This thing that has your heart will flow on down to the sea, too. I promise.
Gaze at the flower, or the woven rug or the stars. The sky is so big and we are so small.
You. You are going to be OK. A good, fierce OK.
I promise. I promise. I promise.