I don’t know when it started—this little fire inside my chest.

But every time someone cried near me,

my heart whispered, “Let them rest here.”

I’m not made of stone.

I’m made of soft things—like quiet hugs, trembling hands,

and the silence between sobs when words don’t work anymore.

Maybe I’m not a hero, but I’ll sit beside your storm.

I’ll be the calm. The warmth.

The one who says, “It’s okay. You don’t have to be strong today.”

And when your eyes stop raining—just for a second—

and your lips form a small, tired smile…

God, that’s when I feel alive.

Not because I fixed you, but because I stayed.

That’s all I ever want—to be the one who stays

when it’s not pretty.

When it’s hard.

When it’s real.

I just want to make you smile.

Even if I cry after you go.