My eyes crack open and light peeks in through the window. I rub my face before I yawn and feel the tiredness in every bone, every muscle.

The calendar on the wall has been unturned for years and I shake my head at the memory. What was the reason? 

Calendars. Clocks. Every device we used to use.

Time. 

The concept seems so foreign now, archaic even. Now there is only the past, the future and whatever shit this day brings. I'm not even sure there is a future. Seasons might be the only thing that matter. Cold. Warm. Hot. Whatever. 

I get up, roll up the sleeping bag and start again.