Time is winding down now.
I leave soon, next week actually.
The money I have now is what I get,
so I got to make good use of it.
Or else I’m going to be fucked out there.
I can’t think like that though.
I’ll be OK because I know I will.
I’m always OK in the end.
I still have some time left.
I can maybe get something going for me.
Anyway, though, it is what it is.
All I got to do now is live my days.
Each day will pass, normal days.
These days will wind down,
until I’m finally at the last one,
where I get myself a full week—
a week of vacationing and relaxing.
Just got to make it through these days.
The weight of these final days feels heavier,
but also lighter in a way.
It’s like carrying a bag you know
you’ll soon set down for good.
I keep reminding myself:
just one more.
Just one more workout,
one more task,
one more long day.
What’s the point of worrying now?
I’ve done this before—pushed through,
found a way when things seemed tight.
I’ll figure it out again, even if
I’m not sure how yet.
I’m not looking to make these days easier.
That’s not my way.
If I ease up now,
what does that say about me?
These are the days that matter,
the ones that show who I really am.
I’ll finish strong, because I have to.
Because I want to.
And when I’m out there,
when I finally feel the sand under my feet,
I’ll know I earned every second of it.
