Literature
Life's Like An Hourglass...
...glued to the table.
He was tired. He was always tired these days; between the chemo, the meds, the fucking fighting for his life, he was exhausted.
And it never seemed to end.
Life was hard, getting the best of him these days. Most of it was spent alone in a quiet apartment he shared with no one. Most of the things that had been important to him had stepped back - not gone entirely, but just far enough away that their faces seemed blurred, unrecognizable.
Most things.
Looking back on it, it made sense and the more he'd learned over the years, he understood why it had happened this way.
He would never have imagined him thin