Sometimes, I catch myself wondering: how many people would truly miss me if I were gone? And most days, the answer feels painfully clear—none.
But then I ask myself, why does that even matter to me?
I don’t have anything specific to live for right now. But I also don’t have a reason not to live. It’s a strange, in-between space to exist in. I’m the only one making decisions for myself now. No one else is steering this ship. It’s all on me.
Some people go through life like this. Always being used, taken for granted, even abused—but rarely cared for in return. And the thing is, they’re not naive. They see it. They feel it. And yet, they still choose kindness. They continue to show up with love and compassion, even when it’s not reciprocated.
It’s not because they’re foolish. It’s because their hearts are wired differently. Because they believe in people, even when people don't believe in them. I think I’m one of those people.
In the grand narrative of life, I don’t know who actually wins or loses. Maybe those labels don’t even matter. Maybe the scales aren’t meant to balance the way we expect them to.
What I do know is this: life keeps moving. With or without validation, with or without recognition. It just does. And maybe that's the only truth that really sticks.
So for now, I keep going. Quietly. Thoughtfully. As I must.
