Friend,
Oh … what is a friend?
Not the kind who smiles in passing,
Not the kind who nods but never stays,
But someone with you.
Someone who sees the storm behind your smile
And still stays.
I’ve never known.
Not really.
There were many who cared in pieces —
Faces that turned toward me
When I laughed loud enough,
But disappeared
When my silence started to speak.
Their love was like mist —
Soft, fleeting,
Never something I could hold.
And many more who pretended.
Masks worn with grace,
Kindness offered like crumbs
Falling from a table
Where I was never invited to sit.
God …
The pretending hurts more than the absence.
The way they say “I’m here”
And you want to believe it
So you pour your soul out
Only to realize
They never even brought a cup.
Friend …
What is it like to call someone that?
To speak their name like shelter,
To run to them not out of need,
But out of trust —
To be seen, fully and not flinch?
To trust without second-guessing your own worth.
To believe they’ll stay
Even when you’re not easy to love.
Especially then.
F-R-I-E-N-D
A word so small
Yet heavier than sorrow when it’s missing.
Is it a hand that reaches into your darkness
And doesn’t let go when you tremble?
Is it a heart that knows your shadows
And still opens its door?
Is it a voice that doesn’t vanish with the light?
Is it laughter stitched into the broken places?
Is it presence —
Not just in joy, but in the unraveling?
Because this word —
This short word can carry a lot of weight.
More than I’ve ever been allowed.
This fragile, sacred word —
Is more than syllables.
It is safety.
It is presence.
It is love that doesn’t vanish when you’re broken.
And I …
I have longed for that.
With everything in me.
And though I’ve carried this loneliness
Like a second skin,
Somewhere, deep beneath the ache,
A small voice still whispers —
Maybe, one day …
I’ll say friend
And someone will answer,
“I’m here.”
And they’ll mean it.
