Some days I slip between moments,
into the fine lines no one maps,
where anxiety hums like bad wiring
behind the walls of my chest.
I fall in the cracks
not because I am broken,
but because the world was poured too fast
and never leveled the ground.
There are mornings I wish
I could borrow your backbone,
stand with the calm you carry
like it’s always been yours.
I wish strength didn’t feel
like something I have to earn
on my worst days.
But you never ask me to be solid.
You let me shake.
You let me pace the room
with my thoughts on too loud.
Thank you
for accepting my quirks
the pauses, the spirals,
the way my heart double-checks everything.
You don’t flinch when I unravel.
When I am weak,
you are presence, not pressure.
You sit beside the cracks with me
instead of trying to seal them shut.
And somehow, in that stillness,
I remember
that falling doesn’t mean failing,
and strength can look like staying.