All this weariness of doing nothing amongst nothings.

I think in motion; so much so that when my mind is silent my arms will move. Palm on neck, elbow near eye, knuckles on lips, and toes curlt out of shoe. The nothings stack endlessly through days until I’ve no room for thought, and consideration cannot be given to anyone. Dreams persist but I’m sluggish. Still, I find my heart beating faster than it has any right, so I take deep breaths and hold until the drums slow and I force sleep… all the while knowing that I should be running.

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