There are people who are chosen
without asking.
Their names arrive early
in someone else's morning,
their absence is noticed
before it happens.
Then there are others
who learn how to be quiet
so well
that even longing stops calling them back.
I have watched affection happen
to people around me
like weather—
natural, undeserved, inevitable.
It never learned my address.
I don't ask for devotion.
I don't demand permanence.
I only wonder
what it is like
to be remembered
without having to remind.
Some hearts are destinations.
Others are crossroads—
everyone passes through,
no one stays.
When I am cared for,
it feels temporary,
as if borrowed from a future
that will eventually reclaim it.
I hold gently.
I leave no fingerprints.
There is something wrong with the way
I am held by the world.
Not hatred—
that would at least be loud.
Just replaceable silence.
If I vanish,
life will not rearrange itself.
Conversations will continue
without missing a word.
Maybe this is my role:
to feel deeply
so others don't have to.
To love carefully
so no one carries the weight of it.
Some people are wanted.
Some are needed.
Some are remembered.
And some are simply…
not searched for.