Tired

Tired is only word, with so many different parts.

 

There are the days where you wake up tired as if you had never gone to bed. Those days are full of tears, high tempters, vague answer, and shrinking into yourself.

 

There are the bright and jazzy days. You do anything and everything until you utterly exhausted. But it is the happy kind of tired. Listening to 90’s music on the radio, and sipping a vanilla milkshake.

 

There are the days where nature takes your breath away, as you hike through a forest littered with pine-cones. The cold air and bold and vibrant colors have a different kind of tired. They have the invigorated kind of tired, where you feel accomplishment.

 

There is the sleepy coast town kind of tired. The salt air, and the warm sun. The shifting sand, and the untamed ocean. This kind of tired of full of salt crusted hair, seashells, sand castles, and brightly colored umbrellas. This is the sweet kind of tired, all calm and full of soft beach towels.

 

The sick day tired, where your eyes won’t open. Your head feels like a hammer is hitting it, and your forehead is burning up. This is the miserable and grey tired. All black and grey as it worms fingers through your body and makes you feel weak.

 

There is the car trip tired. Where you wake up every few hours in a different place, full of flashing neon lights and the zooming of cars on the inner state. This is the reserved kind of tired, full of has station stops and restroom breaks.

 

There is the angry kind of tired, with slamming doors and angrily brushed teeth. Frustrated tears, and wet pillows.

 

Late night happy tired, when everyone is asleep. You walk quietly around the house, a sleepy smile on your face. You sip hot cocoa and look through old photo albums. Your eyes get wet from nostalgia and you surround yourself with pictures. Memories. You scribble down half finish thoughts, of poetry that you might never finish. This is the best kind of tired to me.

 

There is the city kind of tired, where you curl up on your window seat, your laptop illuminating your face. Your fat grey cat curls around your legs, and your fingers dance across the keys.

 

The lonely kind of tired as you twirl the short strands of hair that don’t fit into your ponytail around your finger. Pop music plays through your earbuds as you stare up at the ceiling. You started playing music to block out your thoughts, but no matter how much you turn the music up, it does not.

 

 

 

 

 

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