Nobody Watching

The numbness starts in my lips. My face feels like it’s melting, the composure I’ve curated all day sliding away like wet clay. I force my eyes open, scanning for witnesses. To unravel here, in the open, would be unforgivable.

The coast is clear. Just a redwood standing sentinel off the path.

I retreat to it. I trust trees; they have no expectations. I jam my back against the ridges of the bark, letting the rough texture bite through my shirt, grounding me.

Let go.

Shoulders drop. The iron band around my lungs snaps. A shudder runs down my spine, transforming the pain of holding on into the vibration of letting go. It is a relief so sharp it borders on ecstasy.

I close my eyes, supported by the silent strength of the wood. Yet, the relief is hollow. The tree holds me up, but it cannot hold me back. I press harder into the bark, imagining it is a palm, a chest, a heartbeat—anything to bridge the gap between surviving this feeling and actually healing from it.