The Quiet Gift

I give quietly,

not for praise, not for show, but because I see—

the small cracks, the overlooked smiles, and gestures, the little things that matter.

I go out of my way, cook meals with love, listen when no one asks, notice what others forget.

And still, some take, never return, never see, never thank the heart that bends for them.

I have mourned them—

the friends who were shadows, smiles borrowed, voices fading.

But lost has a strange grace:

It clears the space, for souls who matter, for hearts that match mine, for a life undiluted by emptiness.

I am kind,

I am real,

I am deep—

and their leaving does not diminish me.

It honors the love I give. The care I carry, the quiet wisdom I hold.

The world may not always see, but I am enough.

And those who stay will feel the truth of what I bring.