Whispering Trees

When the world feels too loud, and too heavy with words like results and recurrence,

I close my eyes and go back to my safe place.

The wind knows me there,

It wraps around my shoulders like an old friend, smelling of rain and possibility.

The sky opens wide

soft, shimmering, endless.

And suddenly, I remember what it means to be more than a diagnosis.

Here I am made of color again, of wild grass and unbroken laughter.

My feet forget the ache of earth here, and my chest remembers how to lift without fear.

I drink from the river of becoming, and it tastes like everything I thought I’d lost: joy, movement, music in my bones.

In this space, I rest beneath the whispering trees that sing to me like a promise:

you can always come home here.

And when I open my eyes, the world is still waiting.

but lighter somehow, as if it too remembers me now.