When The Going Gets Tough

When I sat down at my desk in my house, I felt drained.

I was exerted. Tired. Fatigued.

How shall I put it?

Sighing, I wove my hands together on the desk and set my head on them, trying to keep my eddying thoughts together and miserably failing.

And it wasn’t physical tiredness, either.

Oh, no. It was that lovely ache you get in your throat and in your chest when you want something so very badly, and yet you can’t get it.

The weather outside looked stormy and moody, reflecting my thoughts as a pre-thunderstorm wind whipped angrily at my window.

I made a valiant effort and flopped down onto my bed, putting my head down on the soft pillow.

One tear slipped out of my eye before I could stop it, and ran all the way back to my neck, pooling against my hair.

“Everett, you idiot,” I mumbled, covering my eyes with one arm.

My sleeve started sagging with the moisture.

I could feel sleep creeping up on me, looming by my bedside. My eyelids finally slid shut.

Best friends…they’re all flukes.

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