Sometimes I catch myself wondering how many people would truly miss me if I were gone. And on most days, the answer feels painfully simple—none.
But then another question follows: why does that even matter to me?
Right now, I don’t feel like I have anything particular to live for. But at the same time, I don’t have a reason not to live either. It’s a strange place to exist in—somewhere between purpose and emptiness. I’m the only one making decisions for my life now. No one else is steering this ship. The responsibility, and the direction, are entirely mine.
There are people who move through life this way. People who are often used, taken for granted, sometimes even mistreated—but rarely cared for in the same way they care for others. The thing is, they’re not blind to it. They see it clearly. They feel the weight of it. And yet, they continue to choose kindness. They keep showing up with compassion, even when it isn’t returned.
It isn’t because they’re naive or foolish. It’s because their hearts are built differently. Because they still believe in people, even when people fail to believe in them. I think I might be one of those people.
In the larger story of life, I’m not sure who really wins or loses. Maybe those labels don’t mean much after all. Maybe life isn’t meant to balance itself in the ways we expect.
What I do know is this: life keeps moving. With or without recognition. With or without validation. It simply continues.
And for now, so do I—quietly, thoughtfully, moving forward the only way I know how.
