The thing you meant to get back to is still there.
You didn't quit it. You never got to it.
Every day it goes to the bottom.
Under the replies and the job someone needs by five.
Under whatever can be closed off before you go home.
Those get done first.
And the day goes with them.
You reach your own work at nine at night.
Tired. Half there. An hour before bed.
You put everything else ahead of it.
Not once did that feel like a decision.
You know what matters to you.
Your day says otherwise.
