I once thought I was your confidante, That you told me everything, But now I see that I was wrong, That I was just another fool.
You tell others things you’ve never told me, Secrets that you keep close, And I am left in the dark, To wonder what I did wrong.
Am I not important to you? Am I not worthy of your trust? Or is there someone else you’ve chosen, To take my place in your heart?
I don’t know the answers to these questions, But I do know that I’m hurt, And that I’m no longer sure, If I want to be a part of your life.
The silence between us grows louder each day, A wall built of secrets and whispers untold, I watch from the sidelines as you drift away, Leaving memories turning fragile and cold.
So I will step back from the shadows you cast, And guard the small pieces of heart that remain, No longer a prisoner to what’s in the past, Learning to walk through the quiet and pain.
That’s how you see me, a shadow in the room, A silent fixture amidst the gathering gloom, Tracing the edges of a space I cannot claim, A ghost in the hallway, a face without a name.
My words mean nothing, they drift like falling leaves, Unheard and unvalued, while my spirit grieves, I speak into the vacuum of your cold indifference, Finding no echo, no bridge, no deliverance.
My heart means nothing, it’s a pulse, a quiet plea, For a glimmer of worth that you refuse to see, Beating against the cage of your neglectful gaze, Lost in the fog of these hollow, endless days.
You do what you want, in your self-centered tide, With little care for me, or the pain I must hide, Sweeping through the hours with a callous disregard, While I am left to mend what you have torn and scarred.
Significance fades, I am sealed by fate, An afterthought wrapped in isolation’s state, Waiting on the periphery of your vibrant world, Like a banner forgotten, forever left unfurled.
Until you need something, a favor to lend, Then I am important, a convenient friend, Suddenly the shadow gains a sudden, sharp light, And I am summoned briefly from the edge of the night.
But as soon as your hunger for utility is fed, Then I am gone once more, words left unsaid, The transaction is over, the warmth begins to cool, Leaving me standing here, a discarded tool.
Discarded and forgotten, in the dark I stay, Watching the slow erosion of my soul each day, A cycle of presence that only serves your whim, As the light of my value grows increasingly dim.
The empty space of connection, the gathering, Pulses with a vibrant energy I only observe. It hums with plans already made, A detailed itinerary, a map of places where I do not go. My position is fixed: outside. I don’t move; I only watch the colors of the evening fade From my window, a slow drain of warmth and light. My world is contained, defined by sitting in the light of what I know.
The knowledge I possess is isolating, sharp: That laughter sounds much louder through a wall— Magnified by the barrier that separates their joy, A painful noise. And conversely, Silence is a heavy thing to wear, A cloak woven from unsaid words. It presses down, making breathing difficult. So, I maintain a silent vigil. I wait for pings, for any word at all, A simple notification, an anchor thrown, To prove that, in their minds, I’m standing there.
The name of “friend,” I embraced fully; We call them friends; I gave the name with pride, A sacred title for those to whom I opened life. I shared my secrets, listened to their own, Believing in a mutual exchange, a balanced scale. But now I wonder, standing on the side, A silent observer of their motion, If that foundation was solid. The crucial question takes root: If I am liked, or simply “loosely known.”
A chilling suspicion whispers of self-doubt: Is there a secret vote I didn’t see? A quiet pact to leave the chair unfilled? Or is the truth more passive, more insidious? Or is the lack of room inside the spree The consequence of slow emotional detachment? It feels like The way a dying fire is slowly stilled, The warmth receding until only ash remains. The question I need to ask is too large, too sharp to utter; It stays in my mind, a burning inscription in the dark: Do I have friends, or people I just know? Did I misjudge the reality of the bond? Did I mistake a flicker for a spark? The uncertainty is exhausting, forcing a decision: Is it my cue to turn around and go?
The core of the issue is heartbreaking simplicity: For if they wanted me, they’d find the space, They’d actively rearrange the elements of their plan. They’d reach across the gap to pull me through. This is the ultimate loneliness I face: There’s nothing lonelier than a familiar face— A face I thought knew me— That looks at everything—but never you.
They claim the name of “friend,” a title bright, Yet stand as distant as the stars’ cold light. Their voices, once a vibrant, clear refrain, Now reach the ear as faint, distorted pain, Lost, perhaps, in some far, forgotten bar. They speak of history, of shared delight, A woven tapestry of days gone by, But in this stark and unforgiving now, Only their deep, loud silence makes a vow— A painful echo, truer than their word.
A Hollow Bond
What lingers is a hollow, empty shell, A bond without true grace or truth to tell. A fleeting shadow, swift to disappear, Leaving no trace upon the heart held dear. How dare they wear that loyal title still, When constant absence proves against their will A bond untrue, a pretense built on air? Friendship’s true essence is betrayed by care And presence that they utterly withhold, A story of detachment, stark and cold.
Unkept Promises and Letting Go This fragile friendship rose on broken ground, Of promises unkept, no solace found.
Aspirations whispered, never meant to bloom, Commitments scattered to an early tomb. A frail construction, easily swept wide By life’s small currents, or convenient tide. The time has come for separation’s plea, A painful truth that sets the spirit free. So cherish those whose actions speak of grace, Whose faithful presence keeps its steady pace. And with resolve, and self-respect’s strong hand, Let go of those who fail to understand The burden shared, the joy, the vital art,
Am I a difficult person to be friends with? The question echoes in the lonely silence, A heavy query, weighted by repeated pain. I dissect each word, each passing glance, Seeking the flaw so visible to others’ eyes, Yet stubbornly opaque, a shadow on my own stain.
Am I too awkward, my presence a strain? Does nervousness stilt the practiced conversation? I rehearse the words, the balance I must find, To hold the moment, a calculated equation. But the words tumble out, a chaotic, hurried rush, Leaving the perfect moment behind.
Am I too anxious, a constant, worrying hum? A fear of saying too much, of taking up space, Of simply being a burden, too large, too loud. This anxiety, palpable, a barrier I can’t erase, A repellent field that pushes people away, Before a true connection is allowed.
Do I forget to hold my tongue’s sharp edge? I value honesty, perhaps too stark and free. I speak without the varnish of social grace, And the truth, though gently offered, can still be Mistaken for bluntness, a candor that drives them out. What is it? A flaw I cannot place.
I don’t have many friends; the truth is stark. My circle’s small, fragile, and often transient. I don’t know what’s wrong, the fundamental divide. While others form bonds, lasting and resilient, Mine disintegrate like paper submerged in water, With nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide.
I am a friend until a better one appears. I serve a purpose, a stand-in for the interim, A convenient stop until a brighter option’s found. I am never good enough, always on the rim; The comparison is the moment of my replacement. I am the waiting room, not the desired ground.
I hold on too long, clinging to the frayed thread, Stretching the inevitable goodbye, a profound fear. My loyalty, my constancy, becomes a weight, A burden they let go, holding nothing dear. Sometimes I must be the one to let go first, A painful, self-preserving, final tear.
It is lonely at times, profoundly I miss The shared laughter, the feeling of belonging, deep inside. But is it real, or the memory idealized? A performance they gave, while they stood by my side, Waiting for the true cast, the better friends to arrive. In the lie of the past, there’s no place left to confide.
I will be there for those who need me to be. My nature unchanged, I offer care freely, A reliable constant, though never the primary light. If you want me to go, tell me honestly. Spare me the slow fade, the ghosting, the agonizing fight. But if you call again, I’ll return without demanding right.
Cherish the friends who remain by your side. Focus on the true constants, the precious, small few. If some want to leave, let them walk away; Their departure speaks of their needs, not a judgment on you. Accept the impermanence, hold the good memories fast, And keep the door open for the few who are true.
