There is a pull that has no name,
anchoring us to mornings we do not ask for,
to choices we did not choose,
to the quiet ache of continuing.

The body rises,
but something deeper stays behind-
rooted in thought,
in memory,
in the heaviness of being.

It is not sadness exactly,
not fear,
but the awareness
that to live
is to carry
what cannot be put down.

Time does not ease it.
Wisdom does not lighten it.
We speak of purpose,
as if meaning were a destination,
but even the stars drift
with no clear reason
beyond motion itself.

Some souls feel it more-
the unseen weight,
the invisible law that bends light,
bends will,
bends spirit.

And yet,
we go on.

Not because the burden is lifted,
but because somewhere,
beneath it all,
we believe
that weight is proof
we are still here.