The Person I Used to Be

I remember a version of myself that believed things would be simple.

That effort always led somewhere meaningful.

That version of me didn’t know about exhaustion that sleep can’t fix.
Or silence that follows disappointment.

Growing up didn’t happen all at once.
It happened slowly — in small realizations that stayed longer than they should.

You stop expecting too much.
You stop explaining yourself.
You stop asking why.

And life becomes quieter.

Not peaceful — just quieter.

But somewhere under the routine and the tiredness,
a small part of you keeps going.

Not hopeful.
Not fearless.
Just unwilling to disappear.

And maybe that’s enough for now.