I don't know when
I began disappearing.
 

There was no single surrender,
no one moment I decided
another's needs were
greater than my own.
 

Just a thousand small decisions.
 

One more accommodation.
One more conversation postponed.
One more promise that life
would be different
when things settled.
 

Things seldom settle.
 

And somewhere in the waiting,
I grew accustomed to being necessary.
 

It took me longer to understand
that being needed
was not the same
as being valued.
 

I had become skilled at making room,
at asking for less,
at finding reasons
to wait a little longer.
 

I learned to cross finish lines
with no one waiting.
 

Eventually,
I stopped looking
for anyone at all.
 

I kept preparing for a life
that always seemed
just beyond the difficult part.
 

And when I finally looked around,
I could no longer tell
how much of that life
I had postponed—
 

or how much of myself
I had left behind
in the waiting.