#poetic posts

Somewhere along the scroll, you stopped reacting. Not because you stopped caring, but because there was nowhere left for the caring to land.

This isn’t burnout. It’s something quieter. Like a soul running out of shelf space.

I found a reflection that put this feeling into words. It’s not loud. It doesn’t try to fix. It just… sees.

When you are old and grey and full of sleep

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

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How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

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And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And his his face amid a crowd of stars.

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