You move through things
without ever settling into them.

Always needing something
to hold you up
from the outside.

A lift.
A reaction.
A response that tells you
you’re steady
without having to become it.

And when it drops
you reach again.

Not inward.

Outward.

Toward whatever is closest
that will carry you
for a while.

Most of the time
that’s me.

You come to me
for calm
for reassurance
for something to hold you together
when you won’t hold yourself.

And I give it.

I always have.

But there is a difference
between support
and expectation.

You take it
like it belongs to you.

Like it’s something
I am meant to provide
without question
without limit
without return.

As if needing it
is enough
to deserve it.

And the imbalance
is not subtle.

You ask for things
you have never given.

Stability.
Patience.
Consideration.

You reach for them freely
while leaving me
to stand without them.

And still
you don’t see it.

The way everything
centers back on you.

Your needs.
Your feelings.
Your urgency
to be held together
without ever learning
how to do it yourself.

So I stand there
holding both of us

while you take
what you need

as if it was always yours

and never something
you were meant
to give back.