Tired eyed and stumbling.
Speeding up time, the pattern is seen. Day, to day, to day.
I miss the future. A decade ago, there was hope. Like all of my tomorrows were a treasure. Like time was my greatest resource. Like the presence of time itself meant I had all I needed to convene with friends, meet strangers, feel belonged. Haven’t felt that in years. Instead, I shrugged off every person in my life who brought complication. The downshot is that I shrugged off every person, and used my remaining time on my own worthless pursuits.
Coworkers ask me what I have planned when I leave for the day. I make up stuff. To fill the empty spaces during the day, instead of the usual water-cooler talk, I confess to my mundane activities. “I was going to do laundry last night, but the machine was broke again.” “My mother called to tell me my sister blah blah blah.” Mundanities. Nobody cares about that. But it’s all I got to offer. Silence would be better.
The future meant I have so much potential. Funny how nobody asks what we want to be now that we’re grown up. Grown-ups know better. Potential is time unspent. There’s still time unspent, but tired eyes don’t want to see. The walking sleep don’t dream.