Perhaps, it’s currently coping up with me running, with bated breaths.
It pokes me on my shoulders when I try to rest.
It lurks from behind when I draft out the day.
But I see that it’s withering, like foliage falling, slowly on a slow windy day in the country.
I see its graying body, with skin that tortuously melt.
It looks for me, maybe, praying that we reconcile.
But memory, I see that you are tired, you need to rest.
You can go now, you can go now.