Care Without Carrying

I care about people.
I get confused and carry them.
It’s hard for me to tell the difference.
Caring feels generous.
Necessary.
Loving, even.
Carrying feels similar.
They both start the same.
I listen longer.
Stay available.
Keep making room.
Keep saying yes.
It looks like care.
The only way I can tell them apart
is how they feel.
Heavy.
Draining.
Resentful.
That’s carrying.
I do it to satisfy my own discomfort.
I crossed a line I never named.
A better question:
What is required?
That question doesn’t make me cold.
It makes me honest.
Care does not require assignment.
I can care without becoming a part of.
I can care without rescuing.
I can stay present without taking over.
Care doesn’t ask me to do anything.
It’s asking me to feel something.