Not The Same Thought

 We are not standing on the same clock, you and I. Your time behaves like something endlessly flexible, something you can rearrange without consequence, while mine is guarded, weighed, chosen carefully. I don’t bend the way you expect. I don’t fold myself into a simpering fool or scatter responsibility across starved pieces of myself or some misnamed, clinical fragment you could point to and dismiss. All of me showed up. All of me chose this connection. And if that made me a fool, then let it be said it was a whole one, not a fractured part. I know myself far better than you ever attempted to, because I sit with my truths instead of cushioning them with excuses.

My time is precious. I thought you would recognize that. I thought you would meet care with care. But now it’s clear I am not the level of friend you want me to be because the effort I give surpasses yours, and that imbalance exposes something neither of us can ignore. I am not your friend. I am a guest in your house, permitted only the entryway, never the rooms where life actually happens. Why do I have to open my core just to be acknowledged, while you remain sealed and selective? Why is there no exchange when all I witness is you taking, measuring my presence by what it costs you rather than what it offers?

Your words speak of closeness, but your actions ration it. I am allowed fragments.. updates, surfaces, polite check-ins.. while depth is outsourced elsewhere. I’m kept at a distance that feels intentional, curated, safe for you and exhausting for me. I don’t want borrowed attention or placeholder roles. I want reality, consistency, and mutual choosing. Anything less feels like standing in a doorway that never opens.

I may never be enough for your eyes, and I have made peace with that. Because I am perfectly imperfect for myself, and that is not defeat.. it is contentment forged through honesty. I know my worth. I know my capacity. I know what I offer, and I refuse to dilute it to remain tolerated.

I thought we were similar.. shaped by parallel storms, grounded in the same values. But clarity has a way of stripping illusion clean. I was mistaken. Not about my effort. Not about my sincerity. Only about where I stand with you.