Some people are night owls, thriving in the quiet hours, their minds sharp as the stars above. Others are early birds, waking with the sun, ready to seize the day.
And then, there’s me—a permanently exhausted pigeon.
I don’t soar through the night with elegance, nor do I greet the morning with enthusiasm. I simply exist, fluttering through life in a state of mild confusion and deep fatigue. Coffee helps, but only so much. Naps are a dream, but rarely a reality. And no matter how much I sleep, I still wake up wondering if I’ve actually rested or just closed my eyes and time-traveled to the next morning.
But you know what? Even exhausted pigeons keep going. We may not glide gracefully, but we wobble our way through the day, doing our best, one tired flap at a time. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.
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