It’s the same drive up and down. Forwards and backwards. The destination doesn’t change. The scenery is the same, and I’m exhausted…
The corridor maze has become familiar, and my feet are tracing its pattern on autopilot. White walls, sanitized air, the same uncomfortable chair waiting at the end of the journey.
Time feels suspended here. Hours blur together in this cycle of coming and going, coming and going.
There’s a hollow weight to this repetition. Each trip drains a little more yet holds the same importance as the first.
I exist in this in-between space now – not fully present at ‘home’, unable to stay. Just moving between points on a map that has narrowed to two destinations.
This kind of tiredness sits deeper than sleep can reach. It waits in the car with me, follows me through those corridors, and comes home when I do.
All to do it again tomorrow.
