Your friend is your needs answered.

“Your friend is your needs answered.” Thus spoke Khalil Gibran, the poet of the soul, whose words carry the fragrance of both desert wind and divine wisdom. In this short yet profound saying, he unveils the sacred nature of friendship — that it is not a luxury of companionship, but a necessity of the spirit. For friendship, in Gibran’s eyes, is not born merely of likeness or laughter, but of a deeper harmony — the meeting of two hearts that fulfill what each silently lacks. It is the echo that answers your cry, the well that quenches your thirst, the shelter that meets your weariness.

In the Book of The Prophet, from which these words are drawn, Gibran speaks as the sage Almustafa, whose voice is both human and eternal. When asked of friendship, he answers not with sentimentality, but with truth that pierces gently: your friend is not your servant, nor your possession, but your fulfillment. To find a friend, says Gibran, is to find the reflection of your own needs — not in dependence, but in completion. The friend becomes the part of you that listens when you cannot speak, believes when you have forgotten faith, and stands firm when your strength falters. Thus, friendship is not the meeting of two halves, but the communion of two wholes, each nourishing the other.

To understand this wisdom, we must look beyond the surface of the words. When Gibran says “your needs answered,” he speaks not of worldly needs alone — not wealth, not comfort, not praise — but the needs of the heart and soul. Every human being carries within them an unspoken hunger: to be seen, to be understood, to be accepted without disguise. The true friend is that rare mirror in which your essence is recognized, not merely your appearance. He does not feed your vanity, but your being. In his company, you find rest — not because he flatters your peace, but because he restores it.

Consider, for a moment, the friendship between David and Jonathan, told in the ancient scriptures. David, a shepherd destined for kingship, was hunted by jealousy and betrayed by power. Yet Jonathan, the son of the very king who sought David’s life, chose loyalty over lineage. “Thy soul and my soul are knit together,” he said — words that echo the meaning of Gibran’s own. For Jonathan was the answer to David’s need — not in might or fortune, but in steadfast love. Their friendship transcended ambition and blood; it was the quiet bond that gave courage to one and humility to the other. Such is the nature of a friend — to meet the unseen longing, to steady the trembling heart, to remind you of who you are when the world forgets.

Gibran’s insight, though mystical, is also deeply human. He himself knew solitude — a life spent between two worlds, Lebanon and America, caught between cultures, faiths, and hearts. His friendships, with artists and poets, became his sanctuary, his bridge to meaning. In them he found the answers his soul sought: understanding, inspiration, and the courage to speak truths that might otherwise have perished in silence. His words were not born from philosophy alone, but from lived experience — from the comfort of hands that lifted him, and the grace of souls that saw him whole.

Thus, my child, learn this lesson well: to find a friend is to find your reflection in another’s heart. Seek not those who please your vanity, but those who awaken your virtue. A friend is not one who agrees with all you say, but one who reminds you of what you have forgotten — your goodness, your purpose, your strength. Do not ask friendship to fill your emptiness; instead, bring to it your fullness, that it may overflow in both directions. For friendship is not a chain, but a current — it flows, it nourishes, it renews.

And when you become such a friend — one who listens without judgment, who gives without measure, who stands without wavering — then you too shall be the answer to another’s need. You will become, in your own quiet way, a healing presence in a weary world. Remember, as Gibran teaches, that friendship is not built of words but of understanding, not of gifts but of presence. Be that stillness in another’s storm, that faith in another’s doubt, that warmth in another’s winter. For in doing so, you shall discover the eternal truth behind Gibran’s words: that the friend you seek is also the friend you become — and in the meeting of those two, the human heart finds its peace.