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  • this kind of tired has shape & weight & torque. instead of it being something i hold, it holds me. i am its center of gravity.

    when i picture us (me & the tired), i see a tiny me encased in a big water-filled fat suit, and together we lumber forward with a bleary purpose i can't begin to guess at.


    we've heaved our way to this place. the path behind us is a mess of ruined things.

    the soul doesn't care if you are comfortable (i know.) it is going to move forward regardless (i know.) and yet right now, in this place, where even my tired is tired, i would like to stay awhile, not looking forward or back. if i could, i would lie back and look up, wait for the tired to melt away, and honor the wreckage.
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