THE ART OF DOING YOUR HEART'S WORK

  A ray of morning sunlight caught my eye. It fell through the window, soft as a whisper, and lit the geraniums on the windowsill from behind in a way that made the leaves look almost transparent, the colour of the petals glowing a deep velvety red. You know that moment, when it pierces you,

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  I’m tired. And I’m tired of saying I’m tired. But when I try to explain my situation right now those are the words I have. I’m so so tired. This last year has unravelled me. Exhausted me, to the point of breakdown. And not because I’ve been mindlessly slogging away, not because I’m unaware

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