Friendship, for me, has never been about volume. It’s about density. It’s about the people who can hold your silences without asking if something is wrong. The ones who don’t need constant proof that you still care. The ones who remember who you were five years ago.
The older I get, the more I notice how rare that is.
People who don’t require performance to feel close to you.
People who don’t get weird when you grow.
People who don’t ask you to shrink so the friendship can stay familiar.
It’s not that I don’t love people. I do. I love deeply. Quietly. For a long time.
But if I have to explain my core every time we talk, I’m tired before we begin.
Some days, I cancel plans just to call one of the five people who never make me explain anything. That’s my version of rest.
Friendship isn’t about who’s there for the big moments. That’s easy.
It’s about who still sees you when your life becomes boring, complicated, or successful in a way that makes theirs feel smaller.
It’s about who doesn’t flinch when you tell the truth.
I don’t need many people. I never have.
But the ones I trust, I trust completely.
And if you’re one of them, you already know.
Because I told you.
Or because I didn’t need to.