Credence

She nodded once, slow, steady—

not the quick glance that checks the truth,

not the half-listen that counts the cracks.

Her eyes didn’t blink away,

didn’t search for holes in my story,

just held the words like fragile glass,

steadying in the middle of noise.

For a moment, the café noise fell away,

a pause where disbelief didn’t live,

where I could lay down all the tired defenses

and be whole, just for that one breath.

Being believed isn’t a gift,

it’s the weightless thing that lets you stand

without the world tilting beneath your feet.