Prose by Ada J. Raven
I lay there, staring at the wall, trying to feel something… anything.
Nothing. Nothing at all. But at least that made me feel guilty.
Guilty for being unmotivated and bland and boring. For sometimes being a slob.
Rarely do I have problems with hygiene (thankfully). I always manage to keep myself clean, put on clean clothes, brush my teeth.
But that on its own can feel like an event — and for what? I wasn’t going anywhere, not anytime soon.
It was just maintenance, another day like the day before that and every other day before that.
I sit up, grab my mug, put it to my lips. The one thing that makes me feel alive for a split second.
I sip at the warm green tea and let it flow through me, filling my empty spaces with the illusion of warmth.
Glancing out the window, I pray for the sun to part the clouds, but it doesn’t.
Oh, well. Maybe the sun will come out tomorrow.