Yo, didn’t we process all my pain?
So, why am I afraid again?
Of hugging after pandemic?
Of laughing after silent grief?
Of talking after arguments?
Of looking after documents?
Of running after ghosting goals?
Of asking after troubled souls?
And, why am I afraid of love?
Of life and every part thereof?
And, why am I still paying you?
Is anything you’re saying true?
You think I cannot heal alone?
I cannot do this on my own?
Well, what is it you say again?
I know me best? You’re fired, then.