Fly By

#109: Float On

The weariness refuses to leave the corners of her eyes and thoughts refuse to stick to her brain. They just fly by her like the days that more and more become the same. She gathers them like one gathers hairstrands from a brush. Slowly. Not thinking but thinking. Tugging then staring at the clump that must've left her bald at some hidden spot. Wondering but without wonder. Like how she washes her hair - half-asleep and in slow motion, while ticking and unticking mental lists of things that matter now, then in a blink do not. She'd rather stay in bed asleep all day than go through another day awake but uninspired. Darkness at least lends rest. And so as she unwillingly trades her robe for her work clothes, she takes comfort in the thought of the pajamas that will embrace her at night. And she floats through the days that make her less and less of what she was.