Without a sound, you empty your mind onto the coffee table that sits in the middle of your living room. You fall back onto your couch and stare at the mess of thoughts dispersed in front of you. Your tired eyes glaze over the memories and you take a deep, painful breath. The sun glides through the room and reminds you that the day has come to an end. You run your fingers gently over the new set of scars branded onto your skin from the last 24 hours. You bury your face in your hands and you keep yourself from losing it. You place all the broken pieces back in their places and you wearily start to get ready for bed. Your legs are heavy and your eyes are red. Your hands are rough and your soul is exhausted. It takes everything in you to push forward but you do it because you don’t know anything else. You don’t have a choice but to keep moving regardless of how slow and tired you are. You shuffle your way through the motions and the routine continues at an utterly infinitesimal pace. The mirror reflects the face of someone you used to know, such a long and forgotten time ago. You steady yourself against the rocking earth and tear yourself away from yesterday. You crack your bones and settle yourself into bed. The darkness takes over your room and your eyes grow heavy under the pressure of the wounded world around you. You take a final moment to mutter last words of hope into the buried atmosphere. What a waste of gross expectations. No matter how loud your heart is, pounding against your ribcage, you fall asleep.
“I’ll just deal with you tomorrow, dear heart, tomorrow.”