I know what I am to you.
Not a home, not a future,
just a quiet place
you go when everything else gets loud.
A habit.
A fix.
Something you reach for
when the world starts clawing at your chest.
And I should mind.
I should pull away,
say I deserve more
than being the thing
you only need in fragments.
But I don’t.
Because I’ve been this before,
a placeholder,
a temporary warmth,
a name people forget to say
when they talk about what saved them.
Being used isn’t new to me.
It fits like something worn in,
like a bruise you stop noticing
after it stops hurting.
And if I’m going to be a vice,
if I’m going to be the thing
someone leans on just to survive..
I’m glad it’s you.
Because even in your half-need,
even in the way you only reach
when you’re unraveling,
I still get pieces of you
no one else sees.
The unguarded moments,
the quiet confessions,
the version of you
that doesn’t pretend to be okay.
And maybe that’s enough for me.
Maybe I don’t need to be
the one you choose forever,
just the one you come back to
when everything else falls apart.
So use me.
Not because I don’t know better,
but because I do,
and I’ve already decided
that even a fraction of you
is worth more
than being untouched
by anyone else.