“You look tired,” I say.

You smirk.
“Cool. Thanks.”

“I mean it more like… you seem worn out.”

“Same thing,” you mutter. “But sure.”

I wait a beat.

“You want to talk about it?”

You shrug.
“I mean, it’s just life. Same crap, different week.
I come here, I talk, I leave. Nothing feels different.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve noticed that.”

You raise an eyebrow.
“Okay. Cool. So what, am I doing therapy wrong?”

“No,” I say.
“But therapy’s not for everyone.”

That stops you.
You weren’t expecting it.

You lean ahead a little.
“Wait. Are you saying I should quit?”

“I’m saying it’s okay if this isn’t the thing that helps.
It’s not a failure.
It’s just… maybe this isn’t what you need right now.”

You sit with that.
A little defensive, a little relieved.

“So what do I need then?”

“I don’t know,” I admit.
“But I think you do. Somewhere under all the noise.”

You look down at your hands.
Pick at a hangnail.

“I’m tired,” you say again.
This time it sounds less like an excuse,
more like the truth.

“I know,” I say.

And we sit there,
not fixing anything,
but not walking away either.