It's 5pm, I take off my coat and boots and waltz through the kitchen, turn on the coffee machine and swing a cup into place. I take my cup of coffee, turn to the TV that I've switched on to keep me company and settle on the sofa that keeps me comfy.
It comes clear to me that mornings are the worst, the quiet sound of the day beginning is a daily reminder of all the thoughts that I can hear so loud. Although a new day gives me a new slate for new memories and new ideas to be written, they drain me by dusk and I'm left every breaking of dawn with a glimpse of the life I lived and the days that have passed.
Every breaking dawn I sit by the end of my bed, reminiscing of better days, realising how and why life has turned out the way it has. I feel like the earth has somehow opened up and swallowed me inside, my life goes on but I am not living. The world revolves around a star and seasons change but I still find myself unable to move forward from my warm mugs and solitude. I have not become numb to it all, I have simply succumbed to the truth that there is no change.
This monotonous routine of something called life drags me down and gravity is heavier than ever.
