You Believed

There was a version of me that I didn't believe in—
the capable one, the one who could be more—
and you believed in it before I did,
held the door open while I found the door.

You didn't accept my "I can't do this."
You handed it back with a "try again"—
not cruel, not dismissive, but insisting
that the ceiling was not where I claimed, and then

you stayed while I discovered you were right.
The grade was fine. But what I keep
is the fact that you believed before the proof arrived—
and belief that comes before is the kind that goes deep.
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