these past few months have been blending into the rest of the year. aren't i supposed to be happy? summer was once a special thing, a prize to earn, a triumphant set of weeks for freedom and peace. and now? another lonesome season, just as uneventful as the rest. why do i waste my time with nothingness. what do i do when my resting days feel just the same as all the others? when do i get to feel the wind billow through the fabric of my shirt, when do i lie in grass and smell flowers?

it’s been difficult to stop. to fill the gaps between the hours with stillness, to be a creature of the earth and not a cog in its machine. i guess that’s where it all stems from, thinking i’m only useful when i’m in motion. i want to feel autonomy. i want to feel alive.