6:00 pm, the day already feels old and chewed up,
like a worn garment, that’s lost its morning freshness, drab
and clammy,
My thoughts of tomorrow already full of dread. Tomorrow, when
it comes,
eager and uninvited, like an odious, old habit, nagging me
to do this, forcing me to finish that.
The familiar, tongue-less voice, reverberating within the
walls of my body, small and defeated:
I’m tired.. I’m tired..
I measure the distances, relentless travel hours, to where
I wish I was
Six hours and forty three minutes to Morocco
Seven hours and twenty seven minutes to Mauritius
Nineteen hours and twelve minutes to New Zealand
While my existence grows shabbier, my bones heavier, my
tread more stooped
Damn time, damn
distance, damn existence
Damn this bewildering feeling of hopelessness..
And then, the final absurd paradox the miserable day manages
to wring out of me
what a powerful, ferocious a brute, a tyrant, a dictator
hopelessness is.
