When You’ve Given All the Light

You have been running

on the last thin thread

of your own kindness.

Answering.

Holding.

Showing up

with a smile stitched carefully

over the ache.

No one saw

how heavy it became—

how every small thing

felt like lifting water

with your bare hands.

You are not failing

because you are tired.

Even the strongest rivers

grow shallow

after a long summer.

Even the brightest rooms

dim

when the bulbs are never switched off.

Come sit down.

Let the unanswered messages wait.

Let the dishes stay.

Let the world solve itself

for one evening.

Nothing sacred

will break

because you chose

to be still.

You are not a machine

made for constant output.

You are a living thing—

and living things

need quiet,

need shade,

need gentleness.

Rest is not retreat.

It is repair.

And you are allowed