I went outside
because inside felt like it was pressing in
from all sides.

The trees didn’t care
how long I stood there.
They didn’t need anything from me.
That helped.

The ground was wet,
so my shoes were wet,
so my socks were wet.
It didn’t matter.
Somehow, that was a kind of relief.

The wind came through
like it always does—
indifferent, steady.
It didn’t say “you’re okay.”
But it didn’t say “you’re not,” either.

I didn’t cry.
Didn’t talk.
Didn’t figure anything out.

I just stood there,
long enough to remember
that I’m still here.

And maybe that’s what healing starts like—
nothing loud,
nothing fixed—
just not needing to leave right away.