An unaddressed letter.

Things crash over and over. It is all work… there is too much.
Noise, its loud and garbled, static that distracts. Sound that blinds.
These thoughts are a giant platter, full of carefully balanced fruit, and there is nowhere to set it down. Every time you think there is a good spot there is something already there. Something someone left in your way, or something you neglected to pick up. Spinning, bending, lifting,, spinning, walking, exhausted.
What is on the platter again? I can’t remember.
I don’t know why I am holding this. I don’t even think its mine.
I am a statue. I am pale and emotionless. There is a smile. A smile stuck on my face. Like marble I am cool and hard. Smooth, and from a distance I look perfect. Pose with me. Take our picture. Put us on your wall. That is all you get.
I am on a bike and the hill looks like it will never end. I can see the top but it doesn’t get closer. Perpetually out of reach. Legs burn, the chain slips. But if I quit, if I stop, I don’t know if I will ever start again. I don't like it here. I don't want to stop.