When the well dries up,
and the road ahead flattens out,
I’ll look out—

not to a distant hero,
but to the faces I pass
every day.

There, the unwavering glint in her eye,
a relentless thrum of work—
that’s vigor.

And him, the quiet flush
creeping up his neck
when complimented—
that’s modesty.

Then her hand, always open,
giving time,
an ear, a meal to spare—
that pours over,
an actual generosity.

It’s not a theoretical proposition,
these virtues.
They’re living next to me,
walking the same roads,
laughing, sharing burdens together.

A constant,
quiet rain of compassion.
A reminder of what is present,
what thrives,
in the shared air between us.

And if they can carry it,
piece by piece,
then so can I.

Filed under: 🜂 Other – reflecting on connection, relationships, and the spaces between souls.