Unfinished

I am unfinished because I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. But I am finished. Actually, I am more finished than I have ever been. I feel spent. Totally and uncompromisingly spent. There seems to be nothing left for anyone to take. Nothing for anyone to harm. I am weak because I didn’t expect to suffer this much. But after a certain point. After you reach that baseline of suffering, you don’t feel it anymore. You don’t react to it anymore. You get on quietly. In the best way you can. You deal with it. You manage the burden. And, because you have no choice but to bear, you bear it. And at that point, you can rightfully say you are finished. Because you don’t fight back, as there is nothing left in your artillery. Nothing remaining in your bag of tricks. You gracefully bow out and say that: “I am now in your hands. Do with me what you want. Because I’m finished.”

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