He rubbed his eyes
and drank the coffee.
and his books surrounded him.
He heard the hum of the fluorescent light
that didn’t seem natural.
The keyboard keys gave a satisfying click
and the sound rhythmically marked his progress
as he wrote.
He adjusted his glasses
and remembered a time long ago
when he didn’t need them.
He felt the twinge of his arthritis
which reminded him regularly
that he was old.
He was alone
in the early morning
and wondered where his wife might be.
He made a mental note
of the things he had to do today,
but knew that he wouldn’t do them all.
He would feel guilty about it tomorrow.
It felt like he was waiting for something.
He kept a routine,
because he didn’t want to worry
about what would happen next.
But, he knew
what waited for him.
He tried to imagine what was on the other side
of the door.
He realized that he no longer heard
the hum of the air conditioner.
But, as soon as that idea occurred,
the hum became louder.
No matter how much he moved the books
and other stuff around,
all of it still needed to be rearranged..
He knew that he faced endless days
of rearranging
and redistributing
and dusting everything,
until he wasn’t there to rearrange anymore.
He knew that everything dies
sooner or later.
Why was he spending his life organizing it? 
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