For A While

Some people don’t stay

like mountains do.

They arrive like weather —

soft, sudden,

changing the air around you.

They sit beside you

on ordinary days

and somehow

make them glow.

You don’t notice

you’re in the middle of it

while it’s happening.

You just laugh.

You just breathe.

You just exist — lighter.

And then one day

the season shifts.

The chair across from you

is empty again.

The air feels different.

Quieter.

But here’s the strange thing —

the warmth doesn’t leave.

It lingers

in the way you grew,

in the way you learned

how it feels

to be understood

for a while.

Maybe that’s the gift.

Not that they stayed.

But that they were here at all.