And honestly, I just hope I meant something to someone— even for a little while. Because all of you meant something to me. You were my lifeline in the middle of all this chaos. Thank you.

Maybe it’s because I feel like I’m finally ready to let go. No bitterness. No drama. Just acceptance. It’s been a good few months. Short, but meaningful enough to get me through.

I’m used to being the one who quietly slips away so that no one else has to feel guilty. I make it easy for them. I always have. I’ve always been the back-up friend. The convenient option. The one you call when everyone else is busy. And somehow, I never complained—until now.

A fleeting presence that no one really holds on to. My presence doesn’t feel appreciated. And my absence? I doubt it even gets noticed. But it’s okay. I’ve grown used to it over the years. People leave. Things change.

The temporary friend. The circumstantial friend. The one who only gets invited when they need something, and forgotten when they don’t. I’m not anyone’s “go-to.” I’m not anyone’s “person.” I’m just someone trying too hard to matter—trying too hard to belong.

If they ever chose to walk away, I don’t think it would leave much of a dent in their lives. Because I’ve always felt like the replaceable one. The one who walks behind the group when the sidewalk gets too narrow.

I tend to cling too tightly. I hold on, even when it hurts my self-respect. And maybe it’s because I don’t really have anyone else. They all have other circles, other people they can turn to. But I don’t. They’re all I’ve got.

I think I’m starting to understand why I spoil my friends so much—it’s because I want to feel like I matter in their lives. I want to believe my presence brings value. Maybe it’s because, deep down, I don’t think my true, unfiltered self is enough to make people stay.

I’m the friend who’s presence doesn’t get appreciated. I’m the friend who’s absence doesn’t really get noticed. But, it’s ok. I have learned to get used to it over the years. Everyone and everything has always been fleeting. I’m used to being the one to walk out so they aren’t burdened to. It’s ok.

They have other circles on their own that they can turn to— while I don’t. They’re all I have. And if they somehow decide to leave, it wouldn’t leave so much as a dent to them to lose me. I’m the replaceable friend. The one who walks behind the group because the sidewalk is too narrow.