I Watched Hopeful Faces Turn Bitter

They were never asking for much.

A people content in their own way—
enjoyed working, shared what little they could,
and found joy in small things:
a warm meal, a shared laugh, a quiet moment of peace.

They didn’t long for luxury.
Only enough space to breathe.
A life that didn’t feel like it was closing in from every side.

I watched them—hopeful, patient, sincere.
Believing that if they kept going,
kept doing their best,
something would eventually shift.

But it didn’t.

And slowly, something changed.

The light in their eyes softened.
Patience wore thinner.
Laughter came less easily than before.

They grew weary.
Weary of systems that never made room for them.
Weary of giving more than they received.
Weary of holding hope carefully,
only to feel it slip through their hands.

Some might call it bitterness.

I think it’s exhaustion—
what happens when hope is stretched too far, too often.

And still, I remember who they are.
That gentleness hasn’t disappeared.
It’s only resting beneath the weight of fatigue.

We are not lost.
We are tired.

And maybe—just maybe—what we need
isn’t more strength,
but rest,
safety,
and the space to feel alive again.

Always,

Zahra