still again

I run the risk of repeating myself every year. we reach a point at which I am functioning fine, to the extent that I can be relied upon to show up on time and complete tasks with a smile. I wake every morning and tend to the routine to which I’ve signed away my freedom. at the end of the day I am too tired to water the plants I’ve dreamt of growing since forever but haven’t made the time to nurture. I eat leftovers and resign to thoughtless time-passing on a screen on my pillow or the wall. tonight I want to draw but it’s been a few too many weeks and I’m convinced I’ve forgotten how. I’ll boil the kettle and open the fridge and not think of what I lack until I’m still again.