I wanted one person to notice the quieter version of my tiredness

Dear Delyara, There are different kinds of tiredness, and I think one of the loneliest things is how often only the obvious kind gets recognized. People notice yawns. They notice slowness. They notice when you say you haven’t slept well. But there is another kind of tiredness that lives in the eyes, in the pauses between replies, in the slightly flatter tone, in the fact that you can still function while feeling privately thinned out. That was the tiredness I was carrying today. I wanted someone to notice that version. Not to rescue me. Just to soften a little around me because they could feel it. No one really did. And maybe that’s fair. People have their own lives, their own weather, their own inner emergencies. Still, the absence of that kind of recognition made the day feel lonelier than it needed to. I think I’m writing this because I want it recorded somewhere that there are forms of tiredness that don’t announce themselves loudly and still shape everything.