I looked at the sofa and didn’t believe I’d reach it

Dear Delyara, I could see the sofa, the blanket folded on the corner, the place where later I was supposed to sit down and become a person again. And still I didn’t trust the evening to let me get there in one piece. That feeling has become very familiar. Rest in sight, not in hand. The body already fantasising about stillness while life continues to pass tasks toward me one after another as if my exhaustion were a rumour, not a fact. I did reach the sofa eventually. By then I was already half-numb with overuse.