They said you were too much.
Too loud.
Too soft.
Too strange.
Too broken.

So you went quiet.
Folded in.
Stopped answering to your name.

Your parents didn’t just hurt.
They broke more than bones.
Your friends carved scars.
You stayed in pieces.
The world walked past you.
You stayed still.
Like a glass left on the edge.

But she mattered.
Before anyone looked.
Before they cared.

I watched you shrink.
Corners were safer
Than most people.
I didn’t stop you.
I let you disappear.

Then you came back.
You laughed.
I kept it like a coin.
Your voice—shifting when excited—
I remembered.
No one asked me to.
I just did.

The little things vanish.
But not from me.
You mattered.
Before they said so.

They were wrong.
You weren’t thunder.
You weren’t pain.
You were a person
Wanting to be seen.

Stand.
Even if no one holds you.
Even if the sky looks away.
I will hold you.
Even if I can’t fix it.
Just pretend I can.

You mattered.
You always did.
And I wish I said it.