Unsent

Sometimes I wonder
if you only reach for me
when your hands come back empty.

And I hate that the thought
even crosses my mind,
because loving you as a friend
has never felt difficult.

But lately,
I feel worn thin—
like I exist in the spaces
where everyone else leaves you.

I listen,
I stay,
I carry pieces of you
you never notice become heavy.

And I’m happy to be your friend,
I really am.
I just miss feeling like
you wanted 
to be my friend too.