I have no rest in my working hours. I see in black and whites. The moments before, during and after work roll by in my head.
I feel the time in my muscles. In my breaths. The season. I feel the drain on me. I take my time to breath through the hours as they pass by. The sweat on my back and brow is reminder of 45 minutes to an hour of hurtship.
Bitterness. Cold. Sweet November kiss before the fall of all heat. I push through the cold. I work faster. I push harder. I feel the summer awaken in my muscles and my stiff muscles sing.
It’s not bad at all I tell myself. It’s not bad at all.