Call her—she is there.
But she does not have tight circles of friends, or family who check on her daily, or even gently, without her first reaching.
There has been one close beside her, yet even there she has often been the last cup to be touched.
Do not judge her here.
Her cry is not a claim upon you.
She, too, lives somewhere close.
Hear her words, and know your own somewhere near.
She wonders how, though it feels she gives so much—so quickly laying down her own needs to lift another’s—it can feel as though not one soul can return even half the gift she has made so freely available.
She builds others so high that her continuance in their lives becomes almost unnecessary.
And still—where is the gratitude? The thanks?
Does she need it? No.
She only wishes there were even one friend who might see: she gives so much in this one sacred language because it is the very thing she herself lives without.
If she has nothing that answers your need,
she will give you what she does have,
with hope
that it will help you
acquire the rest.
She offers the unsolicited call.
The forgiveness without measure.
The unwavering belief when others have turned away.
The listening ear that may not fully understand, yet trusts your heart, your mind, your soul toward what is right—because that is why she chose you, once and forever, as a friend.
She hushes her desires when they feel like too much.
Everything—everything she strains to pour into the world—is, in truth, what she needs returned.
And it is not much, perhaps.
It does not take much to truly see a person
and place hope, gently, in their hands.
HOPE—
it does not have to remain
just another four-letter word.
She understands
if even that is more than you feel you can spare.
But do not cast your judgment upon her
at a moment she breaks or cannot carry one burden more,
nor fend off one more toxic shard
to bleed through alone.
Perhaps she has given so subtly
her gift—precious and pure—
went unperceived.
She wanted and needed this hope so desperately,
yet the need itself was unseen—
because she taught others
her love did not demand return
or even half reward.
Her earliest wounds were carved
by those who kept score—
credit claimed for every offering,
as if she had done nothing on her own,
as if she had given nothing at all,
only taken, only owed, only ignored.
And now—
has she become their same sad story?
Giving all,
and being forsaken.
So, to break the cycle—
Does she break the love?
Or dare she ask
for boundaries
and more?
Has she truly given all she believes she has—
and more?
Or was it, in all,
a gaslight to draw
a brief audience sigh,
a momentary hush
as others glanced inward
at their own hidden score?
