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The Point of Tired
I’m at that pointwhere the days blur,and meaning slipslike water through my fingers. I wake,but it feels like waiting.I sleep,but it feels like hiding. Hope used to humsoftly in the background —now it’s a silenceI pretend not to notice. I carry this lifelike a coat that no longer fits,stitched with memoriesthat don’t feel like mine.…
