What's wrong?

"What’s wrong?“ You asked,
worried.
I didn’t realize someone would notice
how emotionally and physically exhausted I was.
I wasn’t prepared to tell you anything;
I had years of issues that would spill out
at the slightest mention of what was bothering me.

"It’s a long story,”
I said, so used to people not caring about me
or my problems.
They may ask how you’re doing
or if something is wrong but they never truly want
to hear about it. I didn’t think this would be any different.

The smallest frown appeared on your face
at my dismissal.
“I have time for a long story,” you replied.

I don’t know if it’s just because you want
to know about my problems, if you want
to share them with the world in an attempt
to destroy me, or if you actually care
but I can’t form the proper words to express
how much that meant to me.