You move through life
like you are always about to arrive
somewhere better.

There is always something next.

Something quicker.
Something louder.
Something that gives you
just enough to feel alive
for a moment.

Then it fades.

It always fades.

And you are already turning
toward the next thing
before the last one
has even settled.

I’ve watched it
in everything you touch.

The constant switching.
The constant reaching.
The way nothing ever holds you
long enough
to mean anything.

Except for the feeling.

That brief lift.
That surge.
That moment where everything feels
just right
before it disappears again.

And when it does
you need more.

Not better.
Just more.

Faster.
Easier.
Closer.

I learned my place in that pattern
without you ever saying it.

I am not the first thing you reach for.

I am what remains
when everything else wears off.

When the noise quiets.
When the distraction ends.

I am where you come
after.

And still
I stayed.

Still
I made space for you.

Still
I put you first
in a life where I was always
an afterthought.

And the hardest part
is not that you chase it.

It’s that you never stop
long enough
to see

what it’s costing

to keep you
at the center of it.