She took my temperature and weight, asking me why I’m here as if I knew the reason, and though I should have scripted this I told her about my dishes and laundry and the little girl who was always last to leave the room, the big hugs my daughter needs and the seam on my socks, what I know but also what I feel, and then what I read which made me exclaim holy shit, which made me laugh and instantly recoil as I told her I’m sorry, watching in agony as her eyes broke the scene but not me, leaving behind the questions and allergies, the career and family history, the white lab coat and mask, the shroud of selfness and the edifices we’ve built—letting it all fall away and melt into nothing as her eyes looked directly into mine and saved me with a whisper: They didn’t know about us back then.
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Lauren Theresa (she/her) is a writer, botanical sorceress, and depth psychotherapist living outside NYC with her little family and myriad of plants.
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image: MM Kaufman
Rejection Letters 