The Tired Talking
I feel like the lyrics in that song
You know, the one about being tired but not sleeping
When all my time is spent dwelling on not having enough time
and thinking of things I am certain will matter, but don’t.
The worn edge of a skirt,
Numbers on a scale,
Or the opinion of a random passerby.
You can’t blame me can you?
For I have been conditioned to worry,
taught to care about all of this.
But in the quiet moments in between I am daydreaming.
Thinking of the nightstand dwellers
Those whose fingers work by the phases of the moon
And those who get lost in the beauty of life and have no regrets.
I want to be among them.
To run along an endless stretch of sand
and get lost in an ocean of nothing and everything.
Perhaps that’s just the tired talking.
My eyes heavy now with a narrow focus straight ahead.
That is for sleep and dreams,
My weary mind begs, leave the worry again for tomorrow…