I don't know what it means when someone tells me they love me and care about me.
I do know what it looks and feels like to be considered.
I do know what it feels like to be heard and understood.
I do know what it feels like to be remembered.
I know the relief when someone takes a load off my shoulders.
I know the peace and safety of falling asleep in arms that don't expect more from my body.
Until I am proven wrong.
I know when people check in with intention.
I know when they want to know more.
Not just to repeat the story elsewhere.
But to know I am safe inside my head.
And I'm sometimes sad that only a few know me.
But what a blessing.
If I at least publish my musings here, maybe it won't quite count as rotting in bed.
Or overanalyzing.
Or intellectualizing.
Or maybe it's at least a way to track time, growth, cycles.
Thanks God for time stamps.