The Monotony of Enough

The days were monotonous-
but he lived through them
anyway.

Each action-
waking,
rising,
brushing his teeth,
showering,
dressing,
drinking that
shitty cup of coffee
that he needed
to get him through his repetitive day
of fixing everyone else's problems
while no one cared to listen
to his
but he told himself he found
joy and peace in it all
and so he was okay.

He was
okay.

He
was
oh-

Sometimes he just
wanted to scream
to tear at his hair
and cry
and ask god
or anyone
why is this was happening to him?

-kay.

And yeah
he had a good life-
a place to call home
a reputable job
and a wife who
made him feel like he was
her world.

but when the day
faded to night
and she turned over in bed
-his fingers running through her smooth hair
-lightly caressing her soft skin
he couldn't help but wonder
if there was anything else
he could do to make ends meet
to build something
out of nothing
but
My god
there is nothing
utterly nothing
left
and nowhere left to go.

and so he lays in a quiet
disbelief
wondering
if it will always be like this
as she sleeps peacefully by his side.

Defeated
but alive
and for now
that had to be enough.

It just has to be
enough.