Make Things Right

I do not ask for hands to mend,  

Nor voices soft to soothe the end.  

I stitch my wounds with thread unseen,  

Through silent nights and battles keen.  

Yet in the dark where echoes fade,  

And shadows dance where scars are made,  

I cherish those who choose to stay,  

Not fix my pain, just sit and stay.  

No whispered cure, no guiding light,  

No promises to make things right.  

Just presence pure—a steady grace,  

A soul beside, no need to chase.  

For healing walks a lonesome mile,  

Yet warms when met with love's soft smile.  

So if you sit, just stay a while—  

No need for words, just share the trial.