Tired turns into a presence at your shoulder that you are constantly ignoring. Turns into a cliff edge, pebbles shifting beneath your feet and clattering over the edge hundreds of meters to the bottom. Tired slinks at your heels like a wolfdog, familiar but distrusted, and someday it will go for the throat. Tired pools in your lungs, seeping into the bloodstream. It’s your middle name now. It doesn’t count if this is how you always feel. Say one word enough times and it stops meaning anything.