sometimes I’m there in my dreams and it’s like I never leave. I catch tasks and pass them off completed at a pace I could never keep with a ball on the field. demands from different directions grow louder and there is hot angry breath down the back of my neck. but I keep up and manage til the running stops and there is thanks for your time and we’ll see you tomorrow. I close my possessions and the thought of the treadmill into a briefcase and wake up to the sound of tomorrow.
on my run I listen to the air that I’ve spoiled leaving my body. I think about where I am and that maybe this is the hardest I’ve made myself work since I broke, although last time it felt as though it was all building up to something big. at the kettle I wait and scroll past footage I don’t want to see of infants and their final breaths. in five minutes I’ll give a stranger a couple hundred dollars to ask me how I’m feeling for an hour. I’ll have leftovers for dinner when I’m done.
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