It feels like I’m always running out of time.
Running out of time to do the things I have to do.
I know it’s my own fault.
I’m the reason there isn’t enough time.
I keep putting things off.
Putting them off until the last minute.
But I can’t help it.
It’s who I am.
There’s always something else to do.
Something that’s more fun.
Something I’d rather do.
So I do those things instead.
And neglect the things I have to do.
So I feel like I’m always running out of time to do the things I have to.
But in reality, there’s always enough time.
I just good at wasting it.
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Categories: flash fiction