I am the afterthought.
Not the friend they call just to talk,
Not the person they’re excited to see,
Not the thought that lingers when the room is empty.
Am I at least almost?
Almost important, almost wanted,
Close enough to matter,
But never enough to stay.
People care, in passing.
A kind word, a fleeting thought,
But never the one they miss,
Never the one they need.
I wonder what it’s like to be chosen,
To be the one someone can’t bear to lose.
But I am only here when it’s convenient,
A placeholder,
A second choice,
A name they forget until they need something.
