I gave you time I did not have,
stretched my hours,
bent my days,
placed your storms above my own;
not because it was easy,
but because you mattered.
I showed up,
again and again,
quietly,
without applause,
without telling you what it cost.
You saw presence.
You never saw the sacrifices —
the dinners missed,
the sleep lost,
the aching heart I hid
while holding yours steady.
I juggled home and heartache,
duties and devotion,
carefully threading my world
around your needs —
because your pain felt urgent,
and mine could wait.
Not once did I speak
of the balancing act
that bruised me silently.
Not once did I count
the times I chose you
over my own peace.
I never wanted to measure love.
I only hoped you’d feel it.
But one day,
you said “I didn’t care”.
That my friendship wasn’t real.
And something in me cracked —
not from anger,
but from the weight
of being unseen.
I don’t regret the giving.
I never will.
But it hurts
to be misunderstood
by the one with whom
I always silently stood.