Alone, But Here

I laugh too much sometimes. I smile at everyone I meet because I want them to know they can come to me, even if we’ve never talked before. I drift through rooms full of people, alone but not lonely. I notice the quiet things now: the tremble in a voice, the faint lines hidden under sleeves, the way someone sits too still. I’ve been there, in the dark places, and somehow it made me see what I didn’t before. I want to be here. I want to be the person someone can reach for in the middle of the night or in the middle of a crowded hall. Even when I smile and laugh and act like it’s normal, I care. I care too much. And maybe that’s why I notice everything, and why I stay, even when it’s heavy, even when it’s hard. Because I’ve learned that being here for someone else can be the thing that keeps us all alive.