Here is a portrait of a mind that can never sit still in the hour it is given. At sunrise it aches for evening, at evening it begs for morning, always leaning toward some other moment. This restless leaning is the fear of thine heart, a dread that makes the present unbearable and sends the mind fleeing into a time that has not come.
Such a life is exhausting because the escape never arrives. Each moment gets thrown away unlived. A person trapped this way is not fighting the day around them so much as warring with now itself, and that war has no end while the running continues. Peace begins the moment the fleeing stops and this hour is allowed to simply be.