Words fall from your lips like ripe cherries from our tree, carefully pulling away at the carmine leaden armor I wear.
They like the hands of an attentive nurse, undress my wounds,
cleansing them of the infection of humiliation and relieving the pain of guilt.
Your words soothe my cuts with acceptance,
and though it stings,
I'll never flinch because each touch is healing.
Sadly, once you finish, you cannot make me whole, which is a journey I must take alone.
But your words, like the bluebirds song in the morning, allow each day to be easier to bear.