One more and I think I might be done.
Done with the day.
Done with what I wanted to do.
Just one more.
But then there’s more work.
There’s always more work.
So I don’t do the last one.
I don’t do one more.
Because I know that even then I won’t feel done.
I know there will be something else to do.
More work for me to do.
So I don’t work until I’m done.
I never do the final thing.
Because I still wouldn’t feel done.
I would only feel like there’s something else to do.
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Categories: flash fiction