There was some sort of contemplation that came from the depths of exhaustion, Leya thought. (Genre – General, Genre – Free writing, Teacup story, Rating – PG)
In short, I’m tired.
It’s the tiredness that settles into your soul before you can sleep, that makes you so useless at anything. Suddenly times drags, like a fly in amber, sliding over your skin and sucking your smile with it.
It’s a tiredness that isn’t bought from exercise, not the high of adrenalin nor is it the tiredness of completing something.
It’s the tiredness of life. The tiredness between moments, and the tiredness that defines the daily existence of the world.
It’s the tiredness that clouds thoughts, and the tiredness that caused mumbled words and sleepy eyes.
But creativity? No, creativity is never tired, it just bumbles away in the background.
And sometimes, tiredness allows all the other thoughts to quiet. It allows the world to go slow and suddenly a fountain of creativity appears from nowhere.
Magical, some might say.
Maybe it’s just the magic of pausing to take a breath, and breathing in the reality of life.