atlas

It gets harder every day.

Eight thousand steps. Twenty thousand blinks. Five coughs. Sixteen nose wipes. One head scratch. Several body stretches. A couple of yawns. An eternity of hurt.

It gets harder every day.

Three hours drive. Sixteen minutes elevator music. Thirty seven seconds sneezing fit. Eleven minute baths. Two hour meals. Twenty four hour agony.

 It gets harder every day.

Sleep deprived in the morning from previous night. Lunch time wondering what you’re up to, whether you’ve eaten, whether you’re doing alright. Evenings cram all the irrational monsters down for night, the only time we get to talk, only for you to leave in haste, because you need to rest.

It gets harder and harder every day.