I’m lying down on my bed just now, eight minutes before midnight, after chatting with a friend over a call. Usually there’s that tendency to immediately check up on my phone after calling it a night, to skim through my accounts in case there are any messages incoming, but tonight I stare at my hands–the areas where it’s not swallowed by the darkness of the room–and think of how I did so much today, and yet never enough as if everything since August has kept me far from the shore, floating, when all these times I have tried to remain grounded in land.
forging friendships
forging friendships
forging friendships
I’m lying down on my bed just now, eight minutes before midnight, after chatting with a friend over a call. Usually there’s that tendency to immediately check up on my phone after calling it a night, to skim through my accounts in case there are any messages incoming, but tonight I stare at my hands–the areas where it’s not swallowed by the darkness of the room–and think of how I did so much today, and yet never enough as if everything since August has kept me far from the shore, floating, when all these times I have tried to remain grounded in land.