I hold a heart too full
of love for this ordinary world—
the kind of love that blooms quietly,
in the cracks of pavement,
under the pale hum of streetlights,
in the soft clinking of dishes after dinner.

But my hands ache,
worn from the weight of holding onto days
that stretch too long,
filled with the hum of laundry
and the quiet shuffle of small feet.
My body carries the gentle fatigue
of mornings that come too soon,
and nights that linger in whispers,
leaving my soul threadbare,
weary from the pull of life.

There is grace in the soft greetings
that unfold with the dawn,
in the hum of coffee brewing at first light,
and yet, my bones
long for a stillness
that the world does not know how to give.
I love this world,
its little miracles, its quiet rhythms,
but I am so tired.
So tired.

© reddragonfly