four different therapists

she sits across from me.

i sink into the middle cushion.

every session seems the same.

rings on her fingers.

a vibrant colored shirt.

she drinks the same chocolate milk everytime.

her legs are crossed and a pad lays in her lap.

when i answer a question she writes it down.

i wonder what she thinks of me. 

this woman is younger but not youthful.

her hair is short and gray.

she wears bright lipstick.

the walls are lined with plants.

toys are jumbled in a bin.

the recliner is leather and peeling at the sides.

she takes notes on a computer.

nice enough and we share the same beliefs.

the young man is fresh out of college.

i’m his first client and it shows.

throughout the session his phone goes off.

he sends it to voicemail, but texts the caller everytime.

this happens every session.

he reeks of cheap cologne and frat boy.

he prints packets of questionnaires.

he doesn’t know what to do with the people in front of him.

she’s from Holland.

her accent is thick and her eyes are icy blue.

she’s gracefully aged.

when i talk she listens.

her couch is uncomfortable but i don’t complain.

tough but compassionate.

she encourages me to be more confident.

she calls me ‘my friend.’

i’m not a paycheck to her.

i’m a person.

who knew that was such a gift.