She sits down and her eyes fall to the floor,

The lady said all she wanted to do was help restore.

She didn’t trust her and she felt bitter,

She wanted her to feel her cold, hard winter.

The lady sits there, urging her to share,

She refuses to show her the weight of the heir.

Feeling the beige walls cave eerily close,

How was this helping? She didn’t know.

Finally the proding was too overbearing,

The lady just sits there, looming, staring. 

Her eyes lift only for a small second,

The lady nods, trying to call closer, to beckon.

She lets the lady in, just cracking the door,

She offers pity and coakes her for more.

Desperately watching the session drag by,

This lady won’t stop with every poke and pry. 

Scared of her story, she begins to sob,

Reminding herself the lady’s just doing her job.

Because these people are paid to pretend to care,

Just to whisper your past and make people stare.

This lesson is hard and painfully true,

That the only one you can fully trust, is you.