Throughout the year, there are some days that just don’t feel real. Time is flexible, days are short but long at the same time, and life feels meaningless. The six days between Christmas and New Year’s Eve are an example of this. Those awkward six days are sandwiched between a day of family , fun and festive spirit and day of reflection and mirth to another year gone by. Those lost days feel relatively pointless. The difference between them is just too steep, and they stop feeling real, and start feeling like you’ve transported to another dimension, a much bleaker one.
Ever since you left me, these lost days have radiated and spread so that all my days feel lost. I have no direction, no motivation, nothing. I feel like a bird with broken wings, just waiting for the end to come. I’m floating through space and time, waiting to fit the bottom of reality. I’m waiting for something… and I don’t know what it is yet.