Read more poetry by Britt Wolfe
There was a time
when the world
could hurt me.
When a beautiful thing
could stop me in my tracks,
when a cruel word
could ruin an afternoon,
when tomorrow
was something
I looked forward to.
I remember that.
I remember caring.
Now the days arrive
without distinction.
Morning becomes evening.
Evening becomes morning.
And somewhere between them,
a life is being lived
that no longer
feels like mine.
Nothing is wrong.
Nothing is right.
The terrible things
are no longer terrible.
The beautiful things
are no longer beautiful.
They simply are.
And so am I.
There are flowers
I do not notice,
songs I do not hear,
people I love
without remembering
what love feels like.
I eat because it is time.
I sleep because I am tired.
I wake because
the night has ended.
And the world
asks nothing more of me
than to continue.
So I do.
There is no great sorrow
in this place.
No anguish
to collapse beneath.
No longing
to keep me awake.
Even grief
has grown quiet.
As though something
inside me
has finally understood
that feeling
changes nothing.
And perhaps
that is what frightens me.
Not that I am unhappy.
But that I could remain
like this forever
and eventually
stop noticing.
That one day
I might forget
there was ever
anything else.
I used to think
the opposite of happiness
was sadness.
Now I know
there is something
far more desolate.
A place
where nothing hurts
because nothing matters.
Where hope
does not die
so much as become
irrelevant.
Where the future
is neither feared
nor welcomed.
It simply waits.
And I move toward it
without anticipation,
without resistance,
without any particular wish
to arrive.
The sun rises.
The sun sets.
The world turns
in all its magnificent colour.
And somewhere
inside the grey,
I continue.
Not waiting
for anything.
Not searching
for anything.
Not even missing
the person
I used to be.
Because missing
would require
feeling something.
And there is
nothing.
Nothing at all.
KEEP MY WORDS ALIVE
If this poem has stayed with you, you can help keep my words alive. Every bit of support helps carry the stories forward.
WHERE WORDS MEET MORNING LIGHT
BEGIN EACH Week WITH SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL
Every Sunday, at 11:11AM, I send a poem — sometimes soft, sometimes devastating, always truly felt.
💚 Subscribe now to read and breathe and feel along with me 💚
Poetry by Britt Wolfe:
What happens when grief becomes so consuming that even sadness begins to disappear? Numb and Colourless is a haunting exploration of the emotional emptiness that follows profound loss, when the world continues in all its magnificent colour, but nothing feels beautiful, terrible, meaningful, or worth anticipating anymore. It is a deeply desolate reflection on the frightening space between existing and living, where love becomes something remembered rather than felt, hope loses its purpose, and even the person we once were begins to feel like a stranger. For anyone who has ever discovered that the opposite of happiness isn't always sadness, but something infinitely more unsettling: the absence of feeling anything at all.