Waiting is not always poetic.
Sometimes it’s exhausting.
That morning, I won’t lie — I was tired. Not the kind of tired sleep can fix, but the one that settles in your chest. The kind that comes when you’ve been patient for too long, hopeful for too many days, strong for everyone else.
I sat there with my cup of cacao, now lukewarm. My hands wrapped around it, but my mind was somewhere else. Counting effort. Counting days. Counting the silence.
Waiting can feel like loving someone who hasn’t replied yet.
You know they care… but the quiet still hurts.
A breeze passed. Soft. Unannounced. It didn’t remove the heaviness, but it reminded me I wasn’t alone. And I understood something gentle:
Sometimes growth is invisible.
Sometimes love is working quietly.
Sometimes nothing looks like it’s happening… yet everything is.
I stayed. Even when my body wanted to rush away. Even when my heart whispered, “What if this leads nowhere?”
Because waiting, I realized, is also a form of trust.
And trust is hard when you’re tired.
So if you’re reading this and feeling worn out — financially, emotionally, spiritually — please know this:
You’re not weak for feeling tired.
You’re human.
And humans grow slowly.
Like relationships.
Like healing.
Like mornings that don’t rush the sun.
I finished the last sip of cacao and smiled faintly. Not because everything was okay… but because I chose to stay present anyway.
And sometimes, that choice alone is the miracle.