hands on the face of a clock

I keep waiting before I write. Waiting until I can be witty. Interesting. Funny. And I keep waiting. And I’m still none of those things. I’m only tired. And the more energy I spend explaining to myself why I shouldn’t be tired at all, the more tired I get.

I keep wondering what it is that I need to get past this. And all I can think of is that I could use a little love. So in addition to being tired, non-witty, etc., I’ve also become a cliche. Or a Beatles song.

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