If I had a dial for my senses, right now I would turn them down.
The same biting sensations are returning, eliciting a tired weight at the back of my eyes. Under my skin burns a numb fire of fatigue, and while it begs to be stoked it won't simply run its course. The blind constant want to solve my own discomfort, when release just might really be the answer. But closing my eyes to the world would only subdue for a while the blaze behind my frustration. The knowledge that this is not right. This is not working. I am only looking up at the better before me that knows I've got it in my sights. No sense in stopping now, but it's not a heavy-handed trying: it's a weightless submission to the future that lets me fall softly into it. But the fire inside me won't let me rest. It won't stop my mind from tripping over its own thoughts. The ache is ever present and sometimes I'm not sure how to make it stop. And if I had a dial for my senses, right now I would turn them down.
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