And feeling pretty honest! I recognize that this is a normal life space. Which is why I write “I’m tired” not as a complaint, but as an observation. Because even wading through the depths of bleary-eyedness, I see bliss. (P.S. fatigue births new words.)
I see that this is a transient place. A cocoon not to be broken preterm, but to nestle into. To enjoy. These moments are fragile. I know that should I push one aside, it will shatter. All that will be left are fragments… memories. There is nothing whole in those. So, I’ll be here now.
I’m tired. I eat to replenish a belly still full, hoping to find energy in nutrients. My bed is where I would find what I need. Yet I kneel on my mat, thinking – “Yes, more oxygen to my blood. More prana in closed spaces. It will heal me.” But really, all I need is sweet sleep.
I’m tired. Should my bed become more tempting, more accessible, more empty, then maybe one day I’ll retreat there. But for now, I’ll be here. Really here. Even when tired trickles into pointless frustrations. Here I’ll be. In love with a baby, a boy, and a man. In love with tired. Because right now, tired is a lived life.