I looked down at my feet, and just started slowly letting myself drift off into a blank stare. My red flats and blue jeans began to turn into a blur just as a deep man's voice snapped me out of it.  I never met him before so I looked to where the voice came slowly. He was a tall man dresses like a college professor. Brown dress shoes and a three piece suit the coat wasn't on so he probably left it in his office. He had a dark under shirt underneath his vest with simple gold cuff links. I stared at him for awhile taking in this whole situation on a leather brown couch that smelled of lemongrass. Soon after staring at each other for awhile he uncrossed his arms and sat beside me not saying a word. Now i could smell his faded cologne as he reached his hand over at touched mine. then he simply spoke his name, each word , each letter rolled off his tongue like silk.

" My name is Dr. Lindsay Moore."

I felt safe sitting there next to him, like a baby being comforted by its mother. The man sitting next to me was my sixth therapist in six years. every year my therapist listens and listens just to tell me they've given up. I just hoped he wouldn't do the same. 

"Emma Butler..." i said.

throughout the day i feel sluggish from my nightmares my brain is quite active but speaking to strangers takes a lot. Even as i talked to this therapist who should be like some sort of friend i felt my words drift away like a breath passing my lips for the last time. Dr. Moore put his hand on my back and helped my stand. both of us walked to the office where i sat on white couch. this one wasn't like the brown leather this was softer but i don't know what it is. looking around the white walls i found varieties of bowls of candy even a snack bar. i saw neatly stacked books and magazines, empty notepads with pens, note cards with pictures and word, and a small play area. we sat in the middle of the room in white chairs in front of a white table and our feet on a white and black rug.  this circle in the middle where we sat was the only this that wasn't colorful. the folder and notepad in his hand was black even his ball point pen was black. i decided the lean all the way back and rest my head on the back of the chair summoning up the energy to speak. he clicked his pen and began writing probably the date,

Tuesday January first.