The Rabbit Listened

One day, Taylor decided to build something truly magnificent. Taylor gathered blocks of all sizes, carefully stacking each one, creating a structure that felt powerful and sturdy. It was the kind of creation that felt unique, something that made Taylor feel proud and accomplished. But just as the last block was placed, a flock of birds swooped down unexpectedly, scattering Taylor’s creation into a pile of blocks and broken dreams.

For a moment, Taylor just stared at the scattered blocks, heart sinking with the weight of loss. Every single piece that had taken time and effort to assemble was now a mess on the floor, and Taylor didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t just a stack of blocks—it was something Taylor had poured dreams into, something that was supposed to stand tall and proud. Now, it was reduced to pieces scattered far and wide.

Just then, Taylor heard a soft rustling. It was the first visitor.

A chicken clucked up, head tilted as if scrutinizing the scene. "Bawk, bawk," it clucked, nudging Taylor’s arm. "Let’s talk about it," it suggested. "Talking always helps. We can go over every detail, remember everything you felt, and maybe it will make things better."

Taylor considered it for a moment, but the thought of rehashing every moment and feeling didn’t seem like it would help at all. The pain was too fresh, too heavy to unpack just yet. So, Taylor shook their head gently, declining the offer.

Seeing this, the chicken clucked in a disappointed tone, then fluttered away, leaving Taylor once again alone with the remnants of the project.

The next visitor was a bear, its heavy footsteps announcing its arrival. It ambled over to Taylor, looming large and steady. "Grrrr," the bear rumbled, its voice deep and firm. "Sometimes you’ve just got to get angry. Roar and shout until the anger goes away. Let it out. You’ll feel better, I promise."

Taylor thought about it. The anger was indeed there, bubbling under the surface, a storm wanting to break free. But screaming and roaring felt foreign, like a tool that wouldn’t fit in Taylor’s hands. So, with a quiet sigh, Taylor shook their head. The bear grumbled to itself and lumbered off, fading into the distance, leaving Taylor once again in solitude.

After the bear, an elephant arrived, its trunk swinging with gentle sympathy. "I know what will make you feel better," it said, its voice a soothing murmur. "We can remember. Remembering helps you keep what you’ve lost close, in a way that’s soft and comforting."

Taylor hesitated. There were things worth remembering, indeed, but at that moment, recalling the process, the joy, and the pride seemed too painful. Taylor feared that remembering would only intensify the sting of loss. So, once again, Taylor shook their head, letting the elephant understand that it wasn’t the time for memories. With a soft trumpet, the elephant departed, leaving Taylor alone once again.

One by one, the animals came, each offering a different way to cope with the scattered blocks and the broken dreams. A hyena came, offering to laugh it off. "Laughter heals all wounds," the hyena insisted, chuckling. "Sometimes, you’ve just got to laugh, and the hurt shrinks." But laughter felt distant, almost inappropriate. Taylor’s heart wasn’t ready for jokes, not when it felt so raw.

After the hyena, a kangaroo hopped up. "You know what helps?" the kangaroo said, her voice brisk and cheerful. "Bouncing back. Move on. Move past this. You’ll be building again before you know it, and you’ll forget this ever happened."

The idea of moving on, pretending it didn’t hurt, seemed like a task impossible to accomplish. So Taylor shook their head at the kangaroo’s suggestion, and the kangaroo hopped away, leaving Taylor once more to sit in silence.

A fox came next, sleek and cunning, with a glint in its eyes. "Why not get even?" the fox whispered, as if sharing a secret. "Find those birds and show them how it feels to lose something precious."

But revenge didn’t resonate with Taylor, who didn’t have any desire for more hurt in a heart already heavy. So Taylor shook their head yet again, watching as the fox slunk away, disappearing into the shadows.

Finally, all the animals had come and gone, each leaving their words, each making their offers. The field around Taylor was quiet again, still and empty, with only the scattered blocks lying as reminders of what had been. Taylor sat there, alone, unsure of what to do next, feeling the deep ache of a dream broken and scattered.

That was when the rabbit appeared. Quietly and unassumingly, the rabbit hopped over, soft and gentle. It didn’t make any offers. It didn’t ask Taylor to talk, scream, remember, laugh, bounce back, or seek revenge. Instead, the rabbit simply sat down next to Taylor and waited.

At first, Taylor didn’t know what to think. Every other animal had come with solutions, with plans to fix the brokenness or soothe the hurt. But the rabbit just sat there in silence. Taylor glanced at the rabbit, feeling a glimmer of curiosity. The rabbit looked back, eyes kind, open, and full of understanding. And so, for a while, Taylor just sat with the rabbit, each of them sharing a quiet space together, neither one speaking or trying to fix anything.

As they sat there, Taylor felt something change, a small shift within. It was as if the rabbit’s gentle presence had created a space where all feelings were allowed to simply exist, with no pressure to change or solve them. The sadness, the hurt, and the frustration didn’t disappear, but they softened, settling in a way that felt a little less sharp.

After a long silence, Taylor finally found the words. "It really hurt," Taylor whispered, glancing down at the blocks.

The rabbit nodded, understanding.

"It was something I cared about so much, and now it’s just…gone," Taylor continued, feeling tears well up, blurring the view of the scattered pieces.

The rabbit stayed still, not saying a word, simply listening, its ears turned attentively toward Taylor.

"Part of me wants to rebuild it," Taylor admitted after a while, the faintest trace of hope mixed with lingering sadness. "But part of me is scared it’ll just fall down again."

The rabbit didn’t argue or push. Instead, it sat there, creating space for Taylor’s fears, hopes, and dreams.

Time passed as they sat together, Taylor and the rabbit, in quiet understanding. Taylor talked when there were words and stayed silent when there weren’t. The rabbit listened, unwavering and steady, holding space for whatever emotions came.

Eventually, Taylor took a deep breath, feeling a bit lighter. The weight of the broken structure was still there, but it felt different, softer somehow, as if the presence of the rabbit had transformed it, making it something Taylor could carry without it feeling unbearable.

After a while, Taylor stood up, looking down at the scattered blocks. Taylor took a shaky but determined breath and decided to try building again. This time, Taylor felt less afraid, knowing that there was no need for perfection, that things might still fall apart, but that it would be okay.

The rabbit stayed by Taylor’s side as the building began again, sitting close, its quiet presence offering a sense of support and understanding.

Bit by bit, block by block, Taylor began to create something new. It wasn’t the same as before, and Taylor wasn’t trying to recreate the past. Instead, Taylor was building something different, something shaped by both the joy of creation and the acceptance of loss. Taylor’s hands moved steadily, piecing each block together with care, knowing that no matter the outcome, there would always be a way to start again.

As the new structure took shape, Taylor glanced at the rabbit, a smile breaking through. "Thank you," Taylor said softly, grateful for the rabbit’s patience, for its presence, and for the simple act of listening.

The rabbit’s eyes shone with warmth as it returned the smile, as if to say, "I’m here whenever you need me." It stayed close, ready to offer its quiet comfort whenever Taylor needed, creating a space where all emotions were allowed, where all dreams could be built, lost, and rebuilt again.

Taylor learned that day that sometimes, the best comfort doesn’t come from words or solutions but from someone willing to simply be there. And in that quiet presence, Taylor discovered a strength they hadn’t known was within, a resilience that came from knowing it was okay to hurt and to heal in their own time.

And so, with the rabbit by Taylor’s side, they continued building and dreaming, knowing that, no matter what, they would be okay. The rabbit would always be there, listening and offering a safe place where all feelings were welcome.

And in that knowledge, Taylor felt whole again, ready to face whatever came next with courage, patience, and the quiet, comforting presence of a friend who listened.