So I take my time. Tell myself there’s no rush. That it doesn’t matter. Work can come later. I can enjoy the sun and the breeze and the sounds of the crows calling to one another as I pass right now. This is what’s important not money. I brush a strand of hair from my face.
Head on a pillow and clothes on the floor I sweat and shiver, something is wrong. I want someone to call, to come save me, but the woman who used to won’t and the one that will is too far away. This is my future, drool going cold on the sheets, muscles stiffening. I pass out hoping I wake up. I need to make things right.
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