The Sunday thief
By Je
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Sunday afternoons a dreadful weariness overtakes me. Like the daylight that fades backwards from grey to black, a shadow creeps quietly over my heart, so stealthy and gradual that when I at last realize I am drowning in it, I succumb willingly, relieved that there will be no resistance on my part, no fight I must put effort into. My eyes close to the numbness. My mind betrays me next, then the rest of my body, and at that point it is already too late to claim myself, for I am gone.
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Sunday afternoons a dreadful weariness overtakes me. Like the daylight that fades backwards from grey to black, a shadow creeps quietly over my heart, so stealthy and gradual that when I at last realize I am drowning in it, I succumb willingly, relieved that there will be no resistance on my part, no fight I must put effort into. My eyes close to the numbness. My mind betrays me next, then the rest of my body, and at that point it is already too late to claim myself, for I am gone.
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