Will You Save a Seat for Me?

Life moves fast. It pulls us in different directions, demands our attention, and often scatters the people we love across time and distance. I’ve felt this pull more times than I can count. I’ve been caught in the currents of responsibilities, expectations, and personal battles that I never meant to fight alone. And sometimes, without meaning to, I drift away. Not because I want to. Not because I love you any less. But because life happens, and I get lost in it.

I wonder if you ever feel the weight of my absence. If you notice the spaces where I used to fit. If the sound of my laughter, once familiar, now echoes only in memories. I wonder if you sit in rooms we once shared, glancing at the empty seat where I used to be. I wonder if you think about me when the conversations stretch into the night, and I am not there to add my voice to the harmony.

I don’t always show up the way I should. I don’t always call. I don’t always check in. I don’t always say the words I should say when they need to be said. And I carry that guilt with me like an old, tattered coat I can’t seem to shed. I worry that my absence is louder than my presence ever was. That the space I left behind is growing smaller, colder, until one day it disappears altogether.

But please know this: even in my silence, you are not forgotten. Even when I am absent, you are carried with me. In the quiet moments, in the spaces between the noise of my days, in the whispers of nostalgia that tug at my heart—I think of you. I remember the laughter, the conversations, the love that wove itself into the fabric of who we are.

I don’t want to lose my place in your world. I don’t want to come back one day only to find that the door has closed, that the chair I once occupied has been filled by someone else. I don’t want to be a ghost in your life, a memory that fades into the background of your new experiences.

So, I ask, with quiet hope—will you save a seat for me?

Will you remember me when the spaces between us stretch wide, when time erodes the frequency of our conversations, when life demands our attention in ways we never expected? Will you still have a place for me at your table, even if I am not always there to claim it?

I hope you will.

Because for me, friendship isn’t about always being present. It’s about knowing that no matter how far I go, no matter how long I am away, there is still a place where I belong. It’s about knowing that when I return—hesitant, unsure, perhaps even fearful—you will welcome me as if no time has passed at all.

I don’t want to be the friend who disappears, who becomes a name you once knew. But sometimes, life demands distance. Sometimes, I need time to figure myself out. And in those moments, I pray that our bond is strong enough to withstand the silence.

I pray that even in my absence, you will know my heart never truly left. That in every quiet night, in every song that reminds you of us, in every inside joke that still makes you smile—I am there.

I want to believe that love, in its truest form, is resilient. That it does not wither in the face of time, nor crumble under the weight of distance. That it waits, patient and unwavering, for the moment when souls reunite.

So, I ask again, not just as a plea but as a quiet prayer—will you save a seat for me?

Will you hold space for me in your heart, even when I am far away? Will you remember the way I laughed, the way I loved, the way I tried my best to be the friend you deserved, even when I fell short?

And if I return—tired, worn, longing—will you meet me where we left off, with arms open, with love unchanged?

Because for me, you are home. And I want to believe that no matter where life takes us, no matter how far I wander, I will always have a seat waiting for me.

I hope you save a seat for me.

Because I am saving one for you, my friend.