I am collapsing inward like a dying star but no one will see the implosion until the light dissipates.

If you were to ask me what kind of friend I was, I’d tell you I’m the compassionate one.

But if you were to ask me on a deeper level, I’d say not once have I ever felt genuinely wanted or seen. I’ve always felt like the pity friend that is just allowed to be there. Not the favorite or the least favorite, just forever existing in a state of mediocrity. Deep down I desperately wish to feel truly cared for and I don’t know how much longer I can exist feeling like this. But I absolutely refuse to let anyone I love feel the way that I do. I will fiercely care and love them even if it sacrifices my own peace.

I’m never wanted. Too much and simultaneously not enough. Desperately praying to be completely and irrevocably seen. I think the second I’d feel wanted, the world would pause, all emotions would break like a tidal wave as I feel the earth give way under my feet, grasping onto the wanton need, fearing it would turn and run. Just like everything and everyone has done to me. So I’ll sit. And I’ll stay. Waiting for that day if it were to ever come. Though I fear I’d wait so long death would meet me first. Perhaps that is the only time I’d be wanted. I’d grasp his outstretched skeleton hand and wander to the land of the dead. Perhaps that is when I’ll have peace.

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