"Even when I'm useless"
I don't remember when you became part of the room.
You didn't announce yourself. You never do.
One day, there was food beside my keyboard
and the ache in my chest didn't feel like punishment.
You didn't ask what I was making.
You didn't ask why I looked so tired.
You just stayed, and the silence learned your shape.
I'm used to people loving what I produce.
A song, a feeling, the idea that I might be useful.
When my hands stop moving, I expect to disappear.
But you look at me the same way either way.
It confuses me more than rejection ever did.
I keep waiting for the moment you realize
I am less than what you thought.
When you remind me to eat, I feel embarrassed.
When you sit nearby, I feel exposed.
I don't know how to exist without earning my place.
You make it feel like I already have one.
I tell myself not to lean on you.
I tell myself not to get used to warmth.
And then I do, anyway.
There are nights I think my music will fail.
That it won't save anyone, not even me.
On those nights, your presence is heavier than fear.
You don't tell me I'm wrong.
You don't tell me I'm right.
You let me believe, for a moment,
that I don't have to justify my existence tonight.
If I ever disappear, it won't be because of you.
It will be because I'm afraid of wanting something.
Afraid of wanting you in ways I can't repay.
You never ask for repayment.
That might be the most frightening thing of all.
Because if I stay, it won't be out of obligation
it will be because I choose to.
If I ever learn how to say this aloud,
I hope you're listening.
I hope you know that when I keep going,
when I open my eyes tomorrow,
it's because somewhere in the quiet
there is you, believing I can exist
without earning it.