My dear,

Aren’t you too young to feel so tired?

You wake up to the roar of the alarm clock before the sun without knowing the meaning of rest. You have too much to do.

You drink coffee like a mad woman to keep the sweetness of slumbers away. Can’t worry bout that now though, you have too much to do.

You pinch the skin under your eyes and it feels like leathery baggage has been stored there, and in a maelstrom of confusion, never collected. Can’t worry bout that now though, you have too much to do.

You’ve learnt nine different ways to fake a smile, twenty ways to be ‘as productive as possible’, and ninety ways to appear to be ‘as productive as possible’, yet… Oh never mind, can’t worry bout that now can we, you have too much to do.

Falsely yours,
A. Nonymous