There are days I genuinely wonder

if it were possible for someone to enter another person’s skin,

to sit quietly inside their thoughts,

to feel the weight of their doubts before they even say them out loud,

you would probably try.

I know how that sounds.

But that is the closest language I have for the kind of care you carry.

It is not confusing.

You are present.

Not to judge.

But to stand there long enough until I sort myself out.

And then there is that side of you

the one that gets unsettled.

Not angry in the loud way.

But dissatisfied when I am shrinking.

Impatient when I am performing below my capacity.

Disturbed when I settle for less than who you know I can be.

You don’t shout.

You insist.

You keep pressing.

You keep pulling until the better version of me responds.

And sometimes I resist it.

But mostly, I sit back and think

what kind of friendship does this?

The kind that refuses your average.

I know those moments when you seem “angry.”

When your tone tightens.

When your words stretch longer than necessary.

I see you.

I see that it is not control.

And here is what makes it even rarer:

You don’t make me beg for it.

You give it.

See now, ehn you have turned me into a writer.

Because how else do I explain a friendship that refuses to be ordinary?

This is not a love story.

It has never tried to be.

And I will say this plainly:

I do not pray to lose you.

Not because I am incomplete without you.

But because intentional friendships are uncommon.

Some friendships do not ask for romance.

They ask for responsibility.

And that, perhaps, is rarer.