We’re feeling drained, used up, and waifed. Half-empty, now spilled, unable to retain. We’re tired. We’re tired. We are so tired. We’re exhausted. We’re every adjective that keeps us from leaving our bed, keeps us from existence, hoping for light and replenishments so that we can move on and share them and feel like ourselves again. We’re still here. We’re still here. We’re still here. We’re still here. We’re tired, but we’re still here to offer help to the more depleted and defused. We’re still here. We’re still here. We’re here for you, searching for fuel for my cells, but it's all been burned to fumes. I just want to hold my head up and keep my eyes open. What gets me there feels in the distance. The knots that hold are coming loose, but I will grasp the fray.