You work hard.
So I don’t have to.
That’s the dynamic. That’s the unspoken understanding that governs every transaction, every standing order, every quiet little tribute sent in the dead of night. You labour. I lounge. You earn. I exhale. You check your accounts in a panic while I sip something chilled, somewhere quiet, somewhere expensive.
My stillness isn’t laziness. It’s luxury. It’s the reward your effort provides. Because I will not lift a finger to chase. I will not run promotions or beg for engagement. My role is to be funded. Yours is to ensure that funding never falters.
And so you hustle—working late, picking up extra shifts, budgeting around my whims. While you grind and stress and calculate, I remain untouched by urgency. Unhurried. Unbothered. That’s what your money buys: not just the material, but the mental. The privilege of peace. The indulgence of doing nothing—while you do everything.
I don’t even need to speak. I don’t need to show up or check in or reassure you. My life continues, perfectly padded by your output. I don’t think about you. But you think about me constantly.
That’s how I know it’s working.
Your efforts are never enough to disrupt my day. That’s by design. You work, and I remain undisturbed. That’s the highest form of success—for me. For you, it’s a cycle. You send. I stay still. You try harder. I remain silent. And in that silence, you spiral deeper into obligation.
You fund my freedom.
You finance my calm.
You pay for me to never need you.
And the more you realise that, the harder you work.
Good. Keep going.