Always the artist, never the muse.

Always the artist, never the muse.Always the shoulder, never the one held.

Always the note in the margin, never the line everyone underlines.

For the longest time, I wore these truths like invisible chains of beautiful poetry, suffocating in reality. I was always the artist painting everyone else's sunset while standing in my own perpetual afternoon.

Always the empath, quietly being used. Always the thought introducing someone else's story, never the actual novel.

Always the clothing, but never the model.Always the poet. What if I wanted to be the poem instead?

These questions haunted me in the spaces between phone calls I always answered and the ones that went unanswered when I was the one reaching out. They whispered to me in empty rooms where I showed up, only to find no one waiting. They screamed at me when I realized I’d become the friend who was perpetually stuck inside their head, always giving second chances that were never returned.

I became the expert everyone called when they wanted to learn how to yearn, but no one bothered to ask what I was yearning for. Always the one waiting, but showing up to an empty room. Always seeing people as sunsets while to them, I was just another afternoon.

Born to be the love interest. Forced to be just the best friend.Born to be the happy ending. Forced to be just the end.

The weight of these realizations nearly broke me. I was always the writer, always the letters, but never the complete word. Born to be the subject but forced to remain behind the screen. Born to understand, but constantly forced to ask, “What do you mean?” while my own words fell on deaf ears.

Always the heartbroken. How is that fair?Born to be thoughtful. Forced to ask: Why weren’t you there?Born to be calm. Forced to be anxious instead.Always the understanding. Forced to wonder how I still could.

These contradictions became my daily existence of a life lived in service of others’ stories while my own narrative remained unwritten, unread, underlined by no one. But here’s where everything changed. Here’s where the me finally decided to become the muse.

I am always contacted when in need, but when I need someone? Already busy. I helped people through their darkest times, and now they don’t even remember. I distanced myself from these people and started improving myself. Not looking back at sunset, and in silence and shadows, I will paint my sunrise.

Unfriended people on social media. They won’t show up in real. Not even real shows up. When they just drop a message a single “Hello” in seconds, I used to call them, or even a single query, ready to talk. But when my turn comes, the phone keeps on ringing, or maybe it’s just beep, beep, beep.

After being a wallflower, I found a way. Now, with a new view, I am throwing the past away. I am protecting myself from those people again, and showing up in the new world that are following on the way. I am focused, but when I saw dreams with them under a moonlit night, now I know who stayed.

So after being used like a thing and forgotten when not needed, you named me after so many things but never found me in my own. Observant listener, but when I wanted to talk, were you the same? Even in need of money, I was there. When I needed the same, I know what’s next.

Yes, I am unavailable right now. Maybe I wasn’t right, but after all these incidents, my observations were not wrong.

There’s a quiet strength in letting go. It’s not about anger or resentment, but about clarity. It’s about realizing that some people are only meant to be chapters, not the whole book. For years, I gave my time, my energy, my heart, and my silence. I was the one who listened, who helped, who showed up no matter what. But when I needed someone, the silence was deafening.

It’s not that I stopped caring. I just stopped expecting. I stopped waiting for the phone to ring, for the text to come, for the “I’m here for you” that never arrived. I stopped measuring my worth by how much I could do for others, and started measuring it by how much I could do for myself.

Letting go isn’t about cutting people out of your life with a dramatic gesture. It’s about quietly stepping back, about realizing that your presence is not a given, and that your absence is not a punishment. It’s about understanding that you don’t owe anyone your time, your energy, or your silence.

When I stopped waiting for others to show up, I started showing up for myself. I began to focus on my own growth, my own dreams, my own happiness. I started to paint my own sunrise, not just the sunsets for others. I started to write my own story, not just the ask for theirs.

Self-improvement isn’t about becoming someone else. It’s about becoming more of who you already are. It’s about learning to listen to your own voice, to trust your own instincts, to follow your own path. It’s about realizing that you are enough, just as you are.

I started to invest in my passions, my hobbies, my dreams. I started to learn new skills, to explore new interests, to challenge myself in ways I never had before. I started to take care of my mental health, to prioritize my own well-being.

And as I did, I began to see the world in a new light. I began to see the beauty in the small things, the joy in the simple moments, the magic in the everyday. I began to see that life isn’t about waiting for someone else to make it better, but about making it better for yourself.

There’s a certain joy in starting over. It’s not about erasing the past, but about building a new future. It’s about leaving behind the people and the patterns that no longer serve you, and embracing the possibilities that lie ahead.

I started to surround myself with people who valued me, who respected me, who showed up for me. I started to build relationships based on mutual support, mutual respect, mutual love. I started to let go of the need to be everything to everyone, and to focus on being everything to myself.

And as I did, I began to see the world in a new way. I began to see the beauty in the unknown, the excitement in the unfamiliar, the adventure in the unexpected. I began to see that life isn’t about staying in one place, but about moving forward, about growing, about evolving.

There’s a certain strength in silence. It’s not about being quiet, but about being present. It’s about listening to your own thoughts, your own feelings, your own needs. It’s about learning to be comfortable in your own company, to find peace in your own presence.

I used to fill the silence with noise, with distractions, with other people. I used to be afraid of being alone, of being quiet, of being still. But now, I am learning to embrace the silence. I am learning to find comfort in my own company, to find peace in my own presence.

And as I do, I am beginning to see the beauty in silence. I am beginning to see the power in stillness, the joy in solitude, the magic in being alone. And as I do, I am beginning to see the beauty in a new day.

For the longest time, I was the poet, never the poem. I was the one who wrote the words, who painted the pictures, who told the stories. But now, I am learning to be the poem. I am learning to be the one who inspires, who creates, who dreams.

I am learning to let people see me, not just the version of me that I show to the world, but the real me, the messy me, the imperfect me. I am learning to let people love me, not just for what I can do for them, but for who I am.

And as I do, I am beginning to see the beauty in being the poem. I am beginning to see the joy in being seen, the power in being loved, the magic in being real.

And as I move forward, I am beginning to see the beauty in the journey of becoming. I am beginning to see the joy in the process, the excitement in the unknown, the magic in the adventure.