When my sand runs out

I do get tired, but something somewhere inside of me tells me to keep going no matter what, every day.

I sit sometimes but other times I am moving, doing stuff.

I have no control over when my time to leave comes, but I hope it’s when I’m moving around.

If someone is sent to get me, I will ask for more time, because I love life. I don’t want to leave . . .

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