The debt is real

The craving's got one thing right. You're owed a break. Today took things out of you. You held it together in rooms where nobody asked how you were. You answered what needed answering. Now something in you is done. The debt is real. The payment is fake.

A cigarette is a counterfeit bill. Right size, right color, feels fine in your hand. Try to spend it and nothing clears. It marks the end of something fast, so it feels like the day closing. Ten minutes later you're still tired, still hungry, still carrying it all. It stamps the day finished and pays none of it.

Name what you want in this hour. One plain sentence. To eat. To lie down. To have nobody need anything from you. Then take the cheapest real version right now. Lie flat on the floor, right where you are. Arms out, eyes on the ceiling, three minutes. Let the floor hold the weight for a while.

While you're down there, hand the day to God. Here's today. I'm putting it down. He can hold what you couldn't finish. Nothing else has to happen before you rest. You're allowed to be done for today. This time the debt got paid in real money.