The exit lights washed everything silver and blue,
turning the hallway into something holy.
I remember how small I felt in your arms—
not weak, just surrendered.
There is a strange kind of safety
in having nothing left to hide.
No armor, no careful smile,
not even clothes between my skin and the cold air.
And still, you carried me gently,
like I was something worth protecting.
Like being seen completely
did not make me less deserving of tenderness.
The world buzzed around us in fluorescent light,
doors opening, voices echoing somewhere far away,
but inside your hold there was only warmth—
the kind that quiets panic without speaking.
I think that is what safety really is:
someone witnessing your barest self
and choosing to carry you anyway.