A whirling whirl. My little life. Filled, yes, it seems. But with duty. And a suffocating sense of responsibility. And I find myself wondering what would happen if I just stopped. Disentangled myself from the mediocrity of today and tomorrow and the day after that. The bond, the petrol card, the tedious round of traffic and choosing meals for one. And found a plane ticket. To somewhere. Anywhere. Where I’m unknown and small talk is still just a temporary connection, not a mask.
But instead I sit here. Clutching at pockets of quiet. Finding small moments to contemplate. Searching for small joys to focus on (else I smash all the glassware and burn it all to the ground). Like the way the light moves across the curtains. Or the early flowering of an orchid.