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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1929889
by Kia
Rated: E · Other · Other · #1929889
Time slipping trough our fingers.
I promise myself. Every day anew. And I know I am a liar. With each new promise, countless obstacles appear, the next more insignifficant and sillier than the previous. Yet, as if punishing me, time leaps forward way too fast.

I glance at the clock and now the bastard doesn't move. I swear he gives me more than 60 seconds to think of another promise, to create a new plan. And each time I look back, I think of something more difficult, until difficult becomes impossible. My eyelids are heavy and I'm boiling water for the coffee I won't drink. What is the point? Tomorrow is a new day.
Tomorrow, all plans will be easy again.

So when you see me broken, the day after tomorrow, don't pity me. Don't comfort me.
I'm not a victim. I tried to do the impossible.

No. That's a lie.

I never even tried.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1929889