"I think you're just fine," she says, and invites me to lay my head in her lap. She plays with my hair as tears hold my chest tightly and refuse to let go.
I trust her verdict the way a pilot trusts his instruments during spells of vertigo. I have a certain blindness, like the fog rolling in from the water to the window, but I also have her assurance, and her touch. The knot in my chest softens and becomes smooth, along with the lines in my brow.
I inhale love, like breath.