There was a time
when I had more of myself.

More patience.
More room inside my chest
for other people’s chaos.

I carried things easily then.
Weight felt like purpose.

Years pass
and you do not notice what’s being taken.

A little here.
A little there.

A problem that needs solving.
A fire that needs standing in front of.
Another person
who cannot seem to hold
their own gravity.

You give because it feels necessary.

You give because someone has to.

Eventually
something shifts.

You reach for something inside yourself
that used to be there

and your hand closes
on air.

The strange part
is not the emptiness.

It is how normal
the silence around it feels.

No one notices
the absence.

They only notice
when you stop offering
what you no longer have.