68 - The Economics of Care

I brought him here without a plan. 

It was not strategy, 

not foresight, 

just a desperate act of care.

I didn’t think about how I would sustain him. 

I didn’t think about the hours that would vanish, 

the wages that would dissolve, 

the energy that would drain. 

And I certainly didn’t think about the hidden toll

the cost incurred in my soul.

Later, the numbers began to appear. 

Rent, food, medicine, all stacked against the fragile balance of my pay. 

Each cup I poured was no longer a gesture of joy, 

but a calculation. 

Every grind, every shot, every handover 

was weighed against survival.

Care became arithmetic. 

Love became an account I could never settle. 

The ledger was written not in ink, 

but in fatigue, 

in the narrowing of my chest, 

in the quiet subtraction of hope.

I thought I was rescuing him. 

But I was also mortgaging myself. 

Every decision carried interest, 

every sacrifice compounded. 

The economics of care is merciless 

it demands more than money. 

It demands presence, patience, identity. 

It demands the soul.

Even now, the debt remains. 

The loan sharks of memory call my soul, 

demanding repayment for choices made in desperation. 

Every sacrifice, 

every sleepless night, 

every cup poured without joy is tallied against me.

And though I keep paying, 

the account is never settled 

only carried forward, 

interest compounding in silence.