I am tired.
At the end of the day, all I want is to collapse in someone’s arms and forget the uncertainties of life.
I don’t want to be the labels that I’m assigned, to play my part effectively while I’m here.
I don’t want to win. I don’t want to lose.
I seek a gentle, earnest, rub on my head that can dissolve me into the nothingness of this universe and still make me feel seen.
I am tired.
I’ve been running behind my body. It dissociates, and crawls out of me.
Wait, I say. I need you, I say. Talk to me, I grip firmly and shake it’s shoulders.
I am tired, it replied.
I am tired.
Drowning into a bathtub of hot water and closely listening to the rhythm of my heart is the only real safe space.
I am tired.
Words have been used loosely, promises are carved in sand, the kind that gets washed away at every minor, external inconvenience. Whether love is disguised in many forms or something in the name of love is disguised to find you can now only be known by what is felt.
Because what is said, is not meant, and what is meant is not said.
Tiredness lies lingering in thin air when all is gone.
I am tired.
Working relentlessly to keep me tired is the plan that I’m not yet tired of. I’m not sure where I’m heading with this but so are most circumstances.
I am tired.
Being furious at this world, voicing I care, for giving more than I can, for taking more than I should, and of all the helplessness that resides within me and never budges. It’s a dead end, a vicious cycle. By the middle of the week, grief takes a different turn.
And then, I find myself incapable of the reassurance that me and everyone around me has their own journey of discovery.
I am tired of being tired.
Can you please make me a cup of Chai?
Can you read to me? Can you tell me a story that restores the curiosity in my eyes?
I am tired.
The self loathing can only go so far. The right thing for it to do is get stranded, and lose it’s way. Those apologies will not come your way. Purpose is a cause revolutionised by perspective. To each their own. Anyway, when self-loathing comes back, maybe, it can take the shape of happiness.
Until, then, sleep. Sleep into the tiredness.
I am tired.
I wait and ache for myself to show up at the door.
I’m tired.
