They come to me tired. Not casually tired, but worn… feet blistered from wandering, hearts scraped raw from places they never should have stayed as long as they did. And I receive them the same way every time. No toll. No test. No questions that would make them feel exposed. Just presence. Just steadiness. Just a path that doesn’t move beneath their feet. They step onto me uncertain at first, but it doesn’t take long. They feel it. The strength. The safety. The way I hold their weight without complaint. So they stay for a while. They sit on my beams and speak, really speak… about the things they don’t…