You give me something to write about beyond the horrors of my usually stressful customer service job.
You give me reasons to breathe easy and smile wide.
You give me hope.
That my city won’t be lonely forever.
That I am no island confined by water.
That I am seen, in a world so big I only feel reduced to the smallest bit or crumb or morsel or speck or dust.
Tiny, tiny—my existence.
Tiny, tiny—my confidence.
Tiny, tiny—my belief in the possibility of trusting.
Tiny, tiny—my space for loving.
But the door is no longer shut,
and there is light, so warm, through the windows.
And the walls, they’re butter.
Melted, and sweet.
Tiny, tiny—I feel big.
Tiny, tiny—I feel proud.
Tiny, tiny—I feel invincible.
Tiny, tiny—I can try.
Again, and again…
Until I, finally, can.