Your pain is a false debt
I want to forgive.

On the best back way to the park
I met an old well-meant friend,
gave him greetings, condolences,
and directions,
everything I'd found since.

Let me leave you gently
to come back content.

If I were you,
I'd wear my armor
on the outside
too.

Every time you fall asleep,
something
nearby
awakes.

The weeds that find
the cracks
in your concrete
have begun
to peek through
me.

I kept asking you questions
about yourself,
but you only shrugged and
smiled,
until at last,
you invited me in,
saying, "I have more sheets
than I need."

And there,
stenciled on the walls,
were all my answers.