The standings you stopped checking

You used to keep standings. Nothing written down, but you knew them. The friend who went through twice as many cigarettes. The neighbor who started before breakfast. The relative everyone worries about. You always landed comfortably in the middle, and on a bad night that felt like good news. At least I'm not them.

That line had one job. It was a defense. The cigarette kept you scanning the room for someone lower, because somebody lower made staying put feel safe. Then the standings went quiet, and you can't even say when. You stopped checking because you stopped needing to.

Nobody deletes a comparison on purpose. It empties out once there's nothing left to guard. Look what that frees up. The friend with twice as many is just your friend again. The relative everyone worries about is someone you can sit beside without a scorecard. They're people again, and some of them are still stuck.

God never graded you on a curve. He saw exactly where you were and came for you anyway. When the old ranking starts up, turn it into a prayer for them by name. Get them out too, Lord. Nobody has to lose for you to be free.