Another day, another soul-crushing exercise in existing. Tuesday, Thursday, whatever—the calendar is just a suggestion when every morning feels like a re-run of a show nobody watched in the first place.
Somewhere in the abyss of the junk drawer, past the grease-soaked takeaway menus, expired coupons, and a tangle of dead cords for phones that don’t even exist anymore, lies the mythical potential. A hidden gem, allegedly. More likely just a shiny piece of plastic that looks more impressive than it actually is.
Go big or go home. God, remember that phase? High-school-level bravado wrapped in a cheap suit. Well, nothing went big. Home has a leaky sink. The ambition didn’t age like fine wine, it turned into vinegar. Out there, nature is putting on its usual dramatic, overachieving show. Majestic mountains, sweeping valleys, endless horizons. Breathtaking. Truly. Meanwhile, the internal battery is holding on at a solid one percent, whining for a charger that was lost three moves ago.
At this stage, invisible isn’t just a state of being; it’s a lifestyle. It’s the solitary, crusty gym sock rotting behind the dryer. So thoroughly forgotten that if being accidentally treated like a person, feels like an insult. A split second of human warmth flashes by. It’s cringe, flinch, then it dies… A pathetic little sneeze in a silent funeral home… Left holding the tab for another ruined moment.
Second chances? Sure! Third chances? Why not! Swinging like a pendulum in this toxic relationship, convinced that hope and the self-destructive tendencies are just quirky dance partners in a dysfunctional tango! Onward is the way to go. Drag the drawer open again. Kick the trash out of the way. No answers came, no glory crowned. Searching for purpose in the lost and found.
