Thursday, July 30, 2015

Tin Women

It's six AM and no one is stirring.
The past ten days of constant motion has finally set into everyone else's bones.
Or maybe it's the wine.
Or maybe it's the fog from yesterday that's still clinging on today.
There is no urgency, no need to beat the demanding heat. Alone, you and your partner scramble as silently as possible to successfully load all of your belongings into your bags and onto your backs.
The floor creaks with every shift of weight; like it did all night, harmonizing with the piercing snores.
You feel stiff today, and even your morning stretches can't shake off the elastic pull.
Half asleep, with new body parts taped together, you hobble down ceramic steps and out into the cool air.
And you feel.
You feel tired.
Like you're dreaming.
Unsure about today.
Like the Tinman in the wizard of oz, who in the modern day needs a cup of coffee to lubricate the joints.
If your life was a movie, a flag would wave at the grace of your start.
But then the first laugh cracks the shell of not-sleep.
And you begin you move.
Like you did yesterday.
And the day before.
And the day before.

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