Exhaustion does not always announce itself.

Sometimes, it begins with the little things.

The eyes stay open, but the eyelids become heavier.

The shoulders slowly drop.

The back starts looking for something to lean against.

You walk a little slower than usual.

You sit down for what was supposed to be five minutes, and your body refuses to stand when the five minutes are over.

Your legs feel heavier.

Your feet drag across the floor.

Your fingers become lazy around whatever they are holding.

Even eating can become a task.

You chew slowly.

You drink water and leave the cup on the table because reaching for it again feels unnecessary.

Then comes the bed.

You don't arrange the pillow properly.

You don't care whether the phone is charging beside you.

You simply lie down.

Your shoes remain where they were removed.

Your clothes stay on the chair.

The room remains untidy.

And for once, the body doesn't ask for much.

Just somewhere to rest.

Sometimes exhaustion is not about having nothing left to say.

It is having nothing left in the body to give.