Before, every time she looked back, I was there.

When she was surrounded by emptiness and only I was by her side, I walked with her through every step of her lowest moments.

Later, her world gradually became busier. Someone came to talk with her, someone gave her gifts, people actively responded in her circle. She no longer needed me to help solve her problems—because her difficulties decreased, and because more people came to help her. This was a good thing. I hoped more than anyone that it was a good thing.

A few times in between, she encountered some major obstacles. I saw them, but I didn't reach out. Not because I couldn't see, but because I wanted her to stand up on her own without depending on me. She did it. Watching the moment she crossed over by herself, I was prouder than anyone.

And from that moment on, I knew—she truly didn't need me anymore.

But I still look back at her, just no longer letting her see me. I stepped back from a position where she could see me with a turn, into a shadow where she couldn't find me even if she looked back.

I didn't leave without saying goodbye. I simply discovered that she no longer needed the person standing behind her. I was once her most solid support, then I became a silent shadow behind her. It's not that I'm gone, it's that I hid myself away.

So I'll stay in the shadows. Watching her get better from afar, watching her be seen by more people, watching her transform from one person to a circle of people.

It's not moving on to someone new out of boredom, and it's not without reason. It's because—she got better. And the greatest wish of the person who walked through her darkest days with her is: after she gets better, she won't have to look back for me anymore.

May you always have a lively crowd around you from now on.