I also grew tired of the repetition of this poetry

As beautiful as snow may be, there are times we grow tired of it.
As graceful as green grass may be, there are times we grow tired of it.
As good as the cold may feel, there are times we grow tired of it.
And as comforting as warmth may be—believe it or not—we grow tired of it too.

How wonderful the day is! But after so many white nights, we long for the stars in the dark sky.
And when the nights invade the day, we mourn the dimness.
That is why the sky grows tired of itself and, to entertain itself, invites the aurora borealis to dance in its green and pink garments amid its darkness.

As wonderful as the sun may be, we grow tired of it.
And as much as the rain brings relief, there are moments when we grow tired of it too.
Ah, autumn—how marvelous: falling leaves, sepia colors—but we grow tired of it as well.
That is why not even the seasons can stand themselves and decide to change.

As much as people may do us good, there are times we grow tired of them.
And as good as solitude may be, we grow tired of it too.
As good as love may be—guess what? Sometimes it becomes a real pain.
But as relieving as loving nothing may feel, sometimes we grow tired of feeling relieved.

And even though healing is good, there are moments when we grow tired of healing and just want to stay fucked up.
But then illness arrives, and the only thing we want is to be free from it.
There are times when all we want is to stay high—then we get tired of that.
So we become sober, but sobriety… what a drag.

We beg for peace, then everything becomes too calm.
We get fed up and bring chaos into existence.
Chaos arrives, and we can no longer bear it.

There are times when all we want is to stay in the same place—then we grow tired once again.
And we long to be everywhere, but soon all we want is to return home.

We grow tired of the light and dwell in the darkness.
When we look around, we think: why the hell did I get myself into this?

We grow tired of being good, so we become bad.
Then we decide that cruelty is not worth it, and we return to being good once more.

We grow tired of everything—even of living.

That is why we, immortal beings, grow tired of immortality,
and now live pretending we are mortal,
until we grow tired of that too,
spending our entire mortal lives searching for ways to become immortal once again.

Thiara Màtos.