I feel like whatever I'm making is a stall.

It is just not anything real.

I am floating and breathless, and anything but here. I am one step in, and one step out.

I am sitting in this apartment, and nothing feels real.

I want a day. One day. Where everything is vibrant and actually happening.

I would trade 60 years for this day. Ice cream, and the mountains, and
maybe a conversation with all of the people I love. Maybe 5 minutes. Maybe 15.

I would get up. Go for a bike ride. Read my favorite passages from my favorite books. Talk to my mom, talk to my dad. My grandma.

I would have blueberry pancakes. I would make my mom's recipe. I would play ball with the dog.

Why do I feel like I know a secret that no one else does? Why do I already feel like I am dust?

Why have I decided that whatever way the future goes, I cannot feel excited for it? Why do I feel like I'm going through the motions of what it means to be someone who is living?

I feel like I'm following a script, numbly smiling here or nodding there and why don't the things that made me happy only make me sad because here we are all I want to do is sleep.