See, for a couple years,
As I had to for his own sake,
I thought my best friend was strong.
His world was the type with a natural inclination to crumble,
So I figured his mere survival must have meant he was strong.
But no,
To be strong is to fight your battles.
He never tried to fight.
I’m sure he believes, as I did for a time,
That that was what he was doing,
But I see now that as the first wreckage of his life fell from above,
He built a shelter from the rubble
And hid away,
Letting his sanctuary become his tomb
Under an avalanche of pain,
Mistaking his surrender for defiance.