Tissues.

Litter my floor.

Scraps of Paper.

Crumpled and overflowing my recycling bin.

Eraser bits.

Cover my desk until the pale wood looks black.

My friend.

Cracks open the door, walks in.

My head.

Lifts off my desk, tired and stressed.

My mouth.

Opens to say I can’t do this.

My hand.

Gestures to the white paper-covered carpet.

My friend.

Grips me by the shoulder, hauls me from my chair.

My legs.

Stand, support my weight, while

Her mouth.

Says Let’s take a walk, in the forest.

My eyes.

Glance at the failures at my feet.

Her arm.

Pulls me out the room, down the stairs.

Out the door, into the fresh air. Into the

Forest.

We walk,

Hand-in-hand,

Listening to the rustling leaves and bird calls.

Our shoes make

Little sound.

The silence of the forest, both

Empowering.

And

Calming.

My tears dry.

We don’t talk but.

We don’t need to.

She squeezes my hand:

Once.

Twice.

My shoulders relax,

My posture improves,

My head lifts high

In a display of

Confidence.

We set our eyes on the road to my

Home.

I can do this.

My friend knows

I can.

And has reminded me.

That.

I.

Can