Real Friendship

I never said I would carry your weight..

only that I would walk beside you

if you chose to move.

You mistook my silence

for agreement.

Thought my presence meant

I’d clap you out of your shadows,

that I’d mother your willpower

and dress your choices up in grace.

But I’m not here to fix.

And I’m sure not here to babysit

a grown soul

who knows better than to play dumb with growth.

I told you:

your self-control is your own.

Your change has to come

because you wanted it..

not because I stood behind you,

nagging or nudging

like some sainted disciplinarian in disguise.

I’m not interested in that role.

I don’t coddle.

But I don’t condemn either.

I let the space speak.

And your irritation filled it loud enough

to make both of us flinch.

That wasn’t my doing.

That was your war

clashing against my boundaries.

And I did not yield.

Still..

I leave a chair out on the porch,

one without expectations.

I sit in mine,

book in hand,

tea warm and steady between my palms

masala chai some days,

rooibos vanilla on others.

I read.

I sip.

I live.

Not because I’m over it, 

but because I’m not here

to hold the pause button on my own peace.

You may return

when you’re ready to own your reflection.

Not just the parts that shine

but the parts you’ve avoided too long.

Forgiveness isn’t hard.

But friendship,

real friendship,

asks more than just good intentions.

It asks for growth.

It asks for honest reckoning.

It asks for showing up

when silence would be easier.

So I wait..

not with pleading,

but with quiet trust

that if you want this too,

you’ll come back whole enough

to handle your side of the fire.

And when you do,

I’ll still be here.

Not scorched,

but stronger.

Still,

Me.