I keep trying to hold onto people
as if my hands were made to save them.
But they slip through my fingers
like water that never meant to stay,
and I’m left staring at the spaces
where they used to be.

I have always fought for others;
for friendships that were fading,
for conversations turning silent,
for love that had already left the room.
I have begged the universe to let them stay
when they had already turned away.

And yet, no one has ever fought for me.
No one has ever grabbed my hand
when I started to fall out of reach.
They let me go so easily,
like I was never something
they were afraid to lose.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m too soft
for a world that loves temporarily.
If I hold on too tight
to things that were meant to drift.
But how do you teach your heart
to stop reaching for hands
that don’t reach back?

I’ve built whole worlds out of people,
and they’ve left me in the ruins.
I’ve named constellations after them
just to have them vanish
from my sky.

Still, I stay.
I stay when everyone leaves.
I stay even when it hurts.
Because I don’t know how not to care,
how not to try,
how not to love the way I do:
with everything,
even when nothing comes back.