by studentinwhitecoat
A patient walks in,
eyes weary, heart guarded,
yet brave enough to let the cracks show.
They speak of scars,
not all seen,
but deeply felt.
And I listen —
not just to words,
but to the pauses between them,
to the tremble that truth carries.
I trace the patterns of pain,
not to label,
but to understand.
Then softly, gently,
I offer what medicine cannot bottle:
reassurance,
acceptance,
a moment free of judgement.
In that quiet exchange,
healing begins,
not with a cure,
but with connection.
