Betty buried her dog by the river bend, Marked the spot, said, “That’s the end of that.” She thought she’d walk the wasteland hand in paw, Didn’t plan on losin’ her heart like that. Piper talked fast, smoke in the air, Strong on her own, didn’t need repair. Betty smiled, but kept her space, Some folks don’t need savin’—they just run their race. Then she met Cait in a blood-lit room, Fists like thunder, eyes like a coming storm. Laughin’ loud like she didn’t care, But pain don’t hide, not even when it’s worn. Betty saw cracks in the iron grin, A soul held up by stubborn will. Fragile like glass, strong like stone, Survived the worst by standing still. She didn’t try to fix her fast, Didn’t preach, didn’t pry. Just walked beside her, shared the load, Let the silence do its quiet work over time. Cait fought demons with clenched-up fists, Betty fought hers with patience and grace. Some folks heal by breakin’ things, Some heal by holdin’ space. Now they walk where the world fell down, Two kinds of strength, side by side. One learns to trust, one learns to stay, And both keep movin’—wounded, wide-eyed.
