Dear one,
when the city curls into a wheel,
do not hurry to escape it.
First, notice that it turns.

Notice the road folding back,
the towers bending toward the sky,
the cars circling the same center
like thoughts that forgot to rest.

This is how fear moves.
It promises safety
if you keep going,
if you never arrive.

But the heart is not healed
by speed.
The heart is healed
by being met.

So meet yourself here,
in the middle of the turning street,
with the kindness you would offer
a child waking from a bad dream.

Say to the fear:
I see you.
Say to the grief:
you may sit beside me.

Say to the small self
hidden under all your rushing:
I am sorry I left you
alone for so long.

Pause here.

Feel one breath enter.
Feel one breath leave.
There is no grade for this.
There is only returning.

The city will keep spinning.
The windows will keep shining.
The world will keep asking
for more than you can give.

You do not have to answer
every bell.
You do not have to become
useful enough to be loved.

Love was here
before the work,
before the worry,
before the costume of being fine.

Look gently at the mind.
See how it makes a whole world
out of one unfinished fear,
one old ache asking for a home.

Let the ache have a home.
Let it soften in your hands.
What we hold with mercy
does not have to rule us.

Nothing in this turning city
stays the same.
Not the street.
Not the panic.

Not even the story
that you are behind,
that you are failing,
that you must vanish to belong.

When you remember this,
the world becomes wide again.
A little space opens
between the sound and the answer.

May you be kind there.

May you put down
one small burden.
May you forgive
the frightened part of you.

And when the road keeps turning,
let it turn.
Stand in the center
with your hand on your heart.

Slow down before you disappear.
Not because life is easy,
but because even here,
you are worthy of peace.