If I could gather every word of thanks, it would fill more pages than I have time to write.
But no page could truly hold what I feel:
that I am the lesser of this pair, always fearful that one day you would see it too.

I walked beside you like the shadow walks beside the sun—
close, but never part of its light.
I felt the weight of my flaws, my failings,
the parts of me that seem too sharp, too worn, too stained, too old
to deserve the company of one so good.

You are clean, and I feel dust-covered beside you.
You are fragrant, and I feel as if I carry the scent of smoke and ash.
You are calm water, clear and still, and I am the stirring silt at the bottom—
grateful to be near your clarity, but terrified to cloud it.

And yet, you have stayed.
Without demand, without judgment.
Your friendship has been steady, undeserved perhaps,
but given all the same.

And in your presence, something within me begins to shift—
the beast softened, the edges worn smoother,
the darkness a shade lighter for having stood in your company.
Because of you, I begin to believe
that I might become something less tarnished,
perhaps even worthy, perhaps even useful to the bond we share.

So instead of all the pages I could fill,
I will simply say this:
Thank you.
For seeing what I could not.
For walking beside me, when I would have left myself behind.