When I start thinking,
I don't do much of it.
Mostly, it's just a process of falling and crawling and searching through the hidden levels of my consciousness.
I begin falling
            
                falling

                      falling.
I'm lost.
Lost like that stray kitten that wanders around the docks just waiting for someone to come and save it. Lost like the sound of the wind as it passes through the bare winter trees.
Save.
Save doesn't have to be physical.
It doesn't need to be physical or typical or some mystical miracle.
It can be as simple as an "I understand."
                      or a "You can talk to me."
You can cry with your head on my shoulder and when your words run out and you can no longer express yourself through creating any sound I will still listen to your silence.

Because I do understand and you can talk to me. And sometimes all someone needs is a hand to pull them up through all those secret levels and tell them;

I understand. Just take my hand.
I promise to be your rubber band and snap you back.
I will be the cord tethering you to the bridge as you dive off and start falling.
Falling.
Falling until the ground stops approaching and slows into a concrete existence.
Falling until that familiar tug of my compassion draws you back up.
I'm found.