She spend her days wishing them away.

Silent prayers for the things she wants.

Harsh critiques of the life she’s been given.

Bitter wistfulness.

Wishing away the fragile gift of free time.

Eagerly seeking busywork.

One day she’ll beg for this time back.

One day she’ll long for a free moment.

One day she’ll wish for the gift of introspection.

The chance to spend time with her loved ones.

The chance to be selfish and think of herself.

One day she’ll look back

Wishing that instead of wishing away days,

She’d made each day count.