Next Week

I watch from the other side of her bay window.
She throws herself over and over again against the same wall.
The wall remains undisturbed, while she does it.
When she can’t pick herself back up again,
she makes her bed right there in front of the wall
on the cold wooden floor.
It’s her time to recharge, she thinks and stays there
until—
the next item on her list.
When it’s time, she repeats the same actions:
throwing herself hard into the same wall who stands unchanged by her.
She should change herself.
She should take care of herself.
She should try it a different way.
The shoulds tower in front of me, but she continues unchanged.

Until she hears from someone other than me:  what are you doing for you right now?
and it’s the right words at the right time.
So I decide to change—

starting next week.

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