Two years, or 18 months, or one year or two and a half months left, different sounds same feelings.The end of service comes closer, but feels as far off as it did the day I moved here. The days are just as long, the mosquitos still bite, and the shadows of loneliness and restlessness still hover and hum. Still fill my ears with their songs. Tic toc, tic toc, breath a little deeper. Tic toc, tic toc, repeat someone else’s words of wisdom. Tic toc, tic toc, watch the cobwebs respond to the rhythm of the fan. I really should clean those, but what’s the point?