the clock ticks louder here.
her pen scratches the paper,
like she’s carving me
into little notes.

she looks at me too long,
her eyes heavy,
like they’re waiting
for me to spill something
I can’t even hold.

I stare at the windows instead,
watch a bird flutter past,
and wish I could go with it.

„How does that make you feel?“
she asks.
I want to say,
„like I’m drowning in a room
with no doors.“
but I just shrug,
pick at my sleeve,
and let the silence win.

she says we’re making progress.
I nod.

but the only thing I leave behind
is the shape of my body
on the chair.