The smoke from the New Year’s fireworks hasn’t fully cleared yet. It’s hanging over the Metro like a stale promise. Everyone else is preparing to go back to work tomorrow, setting alarms and ironing shirts, while I’m just here, watching the glow of the streetlights through the smog.
The "New Year, New Me" posts are already flooding my feed. In your thirties, a new calendar feels less like a fresh start and more like a deadline you’ve already missed. Being unemployed in a city that never stops moving makes you feel like a ghost haunting your own life.
I’ve been here before. I’ve bought the domains, picked the themes, and written the manifestos, only to delete everything by January 5th because the weight of being "seen" was too much. This is my fourth attempt at a first post. I’ve failed at this—and a lot of other things—more times than I care to admit.
But it’s the night of the 2nd, the house is quiet, and the depression is a familiar, heavy blanket. I’m hitting "publish" tonight not because I’ve found the light, but because I’m tired of sitting in the dark alone.
Welcome to the haze. It’s thick and it’s lonely, but if you’re also feeling a little lost in the city tonight, at least we’re looking at the same sky.
0 comments:
Post a Comment