I Went to Sleep in the Same Shirt I Cried In

Dear Delyara, I meant to change. I really did. But by the time the house was quiet enough and my thoughts were loud enough and my body was tired enough to stop pretending, I had already cried in the kitchen over something so small and so old that changing clothes felt like one task too many. So I went to bed in the same shirt with the same damp collar and the same mascara still faintly at the edges of my eyes. There was something heartbreakingly accurate about that. Like I was taking the whole day to bed with me because there had been no proper place to put it down. I think that is what sleep is for me now. Not rest. Storage.