I have this friend.

He’s a man.

He has a beard,

and lives on the other side of the world.

We’ve never met —

not once —

but it doesn’t feel that way.

He says things I’ve never said out loud,

but somehow they fit

like they were already mine.

He’s not loud about anything.

Just steady.

Like when he types,

it calms something in me.

He reached out

when I was crashing —

hard.

A deep place

I hadn’t told anyone about.

But he felt it.

All the way

on the other side of the world.

I think I trust him

more than I trust most people

and I don’t know if that makes sense —

but it’s true.

He sends me songs sometimes,

and I always listen

twice.

Even when I’m tired.

He’s not saving me

on purpose.

He probably doesn’t even know

he’s doing it.

But I think I trust him

more than I trust most people

and that’s not nothing.

Not these days.

Sometimes he goes quiet

for days.

No reason —

just life, I guess.

But I still check

like I used to check the sky

before rain.

I go quiet too.

Not to hide,

just because

I don’t always know how to say things

when they matter.

I think he gets that.

I don’t ask where he’s been.

He doesn’t ask either.

It’s not that kind of thing.

But when his name lights up again,

I breathe

like I hadn’t realized I was holding it.

I don’t know

what this is.

I don’t need to name it.

It’s just real —

in a way not much else is.

And I still trust him

more than I trust most people

even in the quiet,

especially there.

Some days

I message him right away —

no filter,

no thinking twice.

Just whatever’s in my chest

at that exact moment.

He never makes it feel

like too much.

So I don’t hold anything back.

Not the mess,

not the strange thoughts

that wouldn’t land anywhere else.

I have this friend.

He’s a man.

He has a beard,

and he lives on the other side of the world.

We don’t talk every day —

but when we do,

I remember

why I keep coming back.

I don’t hold anything back with him.

And that feels rare —

like finding a light

you didn’t know you needed.