Exactly

Remember the walk? The ground of granite passing by in a stream of unconsciousness. Quiet unconsciousness. And all you could do was to keep your head up and breathe in the morning chill. Against your own thoughts, against your own mind. Then, you felt a lot better.

And remember the sights? When all the ink drops of the night before melded into sheets of white paper to mix and match over cups of coffee in between puffs of air and tall glass tumblers. And all you did was kept on going, making more ink drops, sometimes interspersed with lines and sometimes dotted with scrawls. Then, you felt your best.

But remember the thoughts? That the beginning was here and that time was something that would show up at the door again. When the cycle ignited in its million steps and the Mondays, Tuesdays, Weekdays, done days turned into repeat… repeat. Repeat. Remember? You scrambled. Tried to dangle. But could you get back into it again? The piles of papers sitting by the windowsill and the bottles standing by the left. Try to tell yourself that. The piles of papers sitting unflipped by the windowsill and the bottles standing stagnant by the left. Try to ignore that. And now, you feel the same.