Wapun Meadow and I've got one foot in the door

she didn’t laugh—not at his question, not at his trouble, not at the way he looked like the good would burn his hands if he dared to hold it.
her smile stayed, but softer now. sadder. like she’d heard this tune before.
eulie dawn shifted, knees tucked beneath her as she leaned just slightly forward, like she was getting close enough to whisper to a wound.
then maybe you don’t take the good, she said gently, voice low like dusk wind, maybe you just… let it sit beside you a while. ‘til you’re ready.
her lashes lowered, but her gaze never left him. sharp as her words were sweet.
reckon the world don’t stop offerin’ just ‘cause you ain’t ready to receive.
then, quieter, almost to herself:
and maybe the good ain’t a prize to earn, dolce. maybe it’s just—grace.
she reached for a dried reed nearby, began twisting it slowly between her nimble fingers, letting silence curl between them like smoke.
i’ll sing for you, she promised, not ‘cause you deserve it… but because maybe you need it.
a beat.
and i always sing for those who need it.