I am always the one
reaching first.
The one who sends the message.
The one who asks how you are
and waits
sometimes hours,
sometimes days,
for a reply that feels
like an afterthought.
I remember the little things.
Your favorite songs.
The way your voice changes
when something is wrong.
The stories you told once
in passing
that I tucked carefully away
like they mattered.
Because you mattered.
But somewhere along the line
I realized something
quiet and uncomfortable
My hands
were always the only ones
extended.
I carried conversations
like fragile glass.
I held friendships together
with effort so constant
it started to feel like gravity.
And you…
you simply existed beside me.
Not cruel.
Not malicious.
Just comfortable
with the fact
that I would always try harder.
I showed up.
Every time.
For birthdays,
for bad days,
for the moments
when your world felt like
it was collapsing.
But when the silence
came for me
when I was the one
standing in the wreckage
of my own thoughts
the room felt strangely empty.
That’s the thing about effort.
When it only moves
in one direction,
it stops being love
or friendship.
It becomes maintenance.
And I have spent
far too long
being the only one
holding the ladder
while everyone else
climbed.
Mar 28
Mar 28, 2026 at 9:14 AM UTC
I am always the one
reaching first.
The one who sends the message.
The one who asks how you are
and waits
sometimes hours,
sometimes days,
for a reply that feels
like an afterthought.
I remember the little things.
Your favorite songs.
The way your voice changes
when something is wrong.
The stories you told once
in passing
that I tucked carefully away
like they mattered.
Because you mattered.
But somewhere along the line
I realized something
quiet and uncomfortable
My hands
were always the only ones
extended.
I carried conversations
like fragile glass.
I held friendships together
with effort so constant
it started to feel like gravity.
And you…
you simply existed beside me.
Not cruel.
Not malicious.
Just comfortable
with the fact
that I would always try harder.
I showed up.
Every time.
For birthdays,
for bad days,
for the moments
when your world felt like
it was collapsing.
But when the silence
came for me
when I was the one
standing in the wreckage
of my own thoughts
the room felt strangely empty.
That’s the thing about effort.
When it only moves
in one direction,
it stops being love
or friendship.
It becomes maintenance.
And I have spent
far too long
being the only one
holding the ladder
while everyone else
climbed.