The One Who Carries

I am the one who carries— not just things, but days. I hold the weight of mornings rushed, of lists unchecked, of lives in motion. They choose me because I endure. My seams stretch, my shade forgives, my shape adapts to whatever the moment demands. I see her— the clutch, delicate and untouched. She is lovely, but I am loyal. I do not envy stillness. I was made to move, to serve, to be the quiet strength behind every stride. And when they reach for me, again and again, I know— I am not just useful. I am trusted.