Some things survive
only because nobody opens them.

The mind calls it avoidance.

The body calls it protection.

There are memories
wrapped so tightly in silence
that even light enters carefully.

Not because they are monstrous.

But because they still breathe.

You were not supposed
to return here.

And yet —

some part of you
kept the key.

Maybe healing is not opening every drawer.

Maybe wisdom is knowing
which ones are still alive.