most people disappear when you stop being interesting.
some stay.

they don’t say anything wise.
they don’t cheer you a lot.
they just stand there,
day after day,
while you run out of things to say.

they witness the shame, the failed attempts to be okay.
not because they are saints –
but because they stopped needing you to be someone else.

and that is the rarest kind of closeness.
not love that lifts you,
but love that never fade.