I love being the one. The one they call, the one with answers, open arms, warm words poured into tired hearts. It makes me feel like maybe I matter— not for what I need, but for what I give. I like that. I really do. But some nights… some nights I walk, just me and the hush of the world, and it’s the only time I feel like I belong to myself. No expectations. Just silence, and the rhythm of my own breath. Most days, that silence feels like peace. Like safety. Like a secret I keep just for me. But on the heavy days, when the sky presses down and I lay in the grass trying to convince myself that I’m okay— I wonder. Who would I call if I let myself need someone? Who would pick up? And that’s when it hits— not loud, not dramatic. Just soft and slow, like a sinking I can’t stop. So I pray without words. Tears on my cheeks, whispers in my heart. Just me and the stars, and the weight I can’t share. I’m proud to be their anchor. But sometimes, I wish someone would notice that I’m drowning too.