Nothing

I think of how weary my sprawled out limbs are. I think about how tired my eyelids, weighted down by air, are. But then I think, of how tired the sun is. How tired the moon and stars are. Never once getting a rest. When it becomes dusk here, it becomes dawn there. But they are crucial to me. To you. So naturally, they keep chugging on. My tiredness is nothing at all. A spec in ten trillion specs. I am not that tired, am I?