What That Looks Like

You see me
when it's too much.
And you see me
when the stronger version
flickers through.
You are patient
when I struggle.
You don't coddle.
You don't condemn.
You persist.
I call it failing sometimes.
My body
not failing.
Fighting.
Doing everything it can
to stay.
And around me
shelter.
love.
friendship.
You.
A shared meal.
A shared laugh.
A shared moment of drama
that somehow still feels normal.
You don't make me feel weak
when I need help.
You offer
but you don't take over.
You support
without turning it
into something I hide behind.
You treat me
like me.
And that matters more
than anything.
Because if you held back
the snark,
the pressure,
the honesty,
the love
then I would be failing.
Instead,
I persist.
Not alone.
A community
holding me longer
than logic says it should.
Giving me time
I thought I had already spent.
That's what love looks like.
I don't know how long I have.
I won't guess.
I won't bargain.
I'll be thankful.
I won't just persist.
I will live
for as long as I have
while dying.
Because dying
doesn't define me.
Living does.
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