It's late, and I'm done with the jokes.

I'm Tired

Fatigue is a good friend because it seems to stop long journeys at a good point. At this slow a pace, meeting with fatigue and finding a seat is not obvious. My path leads down a slope, dried brush crunching underfoot. My shadow insists on leading the way, and I don’t mind I’ve a terrible sense for direction, caves or forests aside. Another day on foot, I spot many travelers in my midst. Some find solace in others, a few straggle behind with their own drives, as I soon found respite upon a rock. I only have thoughts to pick my pace up and run away, but today, fatigue reminds me, is a nice day for a break. Unsure why I took the steps that lay behind me, I’m forced to sit and reconsider. Do I turn back? If I wait here, will help arrive? Was this a mistake? At this slow a pace, meeting with fatigue and finding a seat is not obvious. I did not plan any pit stops at this point in my travels, but following your whims is a part of childlike wonder. I have nothing to fear but flight remains on my mind, the way I assume, children watch adults amble about in the hopes of taking their first steps. I shake my head. I’m not taking much of a break, am I? At times, your thoughts prove your worst enemies. Fatigue makes me restless. But the rock offers a place to rest, and I shall because much of the road lays ahead. Sometimes the future hangs overhead like a cloud to me. I become preoccupied with the would-be and what ifs in the wrong direction and often trip while walking. The concerns around correct choices never leave entirely.