Paperwork

From the fourteenth floor I took the stairs. I could've used the elevator nearby but I didn't. I had to think, I wanted to think. And I can find my all thinking in the long weary steps, slow thumpings all the way down. You might think that you have the choices, but life is always lived the hard way.

The air was neither hot nor cold, and sunlight filtered through diffusing clouds, a gentle glow. Nice weather, a day worth remembering, I was certain. I was working hard to remember it all.

My eyes searched the canteen, upon finding no familiar face, I entered normally, as I had done for so many times. One less awkward goodbye to say.

After the lunch was done, I lingered on a little, writing this. A moment of self awareness to my own story, a little retreat, an island in this sea of unending chaos. I wondered where would it end.

A treadmill. His voice echoed inside my head absent-mindedly. A treadmill. A treadmill. A treadmill. My life is a countdown, but a countdown to what?

If I try to pull myself up from under the water, perhaps I might just drown.

They walked past me and asked how was I doing. My panic attack took the better of me, and I felt sorry for not being able to say anything. I thought it was fine though, for if I were to open my mouth, I would've cried instead.

I wanted to call you. My finger hovered above the button for minutes, then settled with a text instead. Simple, more pleasant and less annoying for someone like you. You replied only for a little. Perhaps something else more important was on your mind, perhaps you didn't know how to reply to begin with. I wished you could be here with me, at least I would've had someone to hug and cry to. But you weren't there, and for a moment I wondered if you would want to be here at all even if you could. I thought of buying some nice notebooks, of a movie I so badly wanted to watch just to make sure it was not the same as my novel plot. Then I thought of some salad, of flinging myself at the train, of drowning, then the thoughts quickly passed. Boring things usually do.

Oh, perhaps I looked almost elegant in my weariness, each step was so slow and graceful as if calculated, instead they were that way because I felt too heavy just to walk. Each footfall seemed to take forever. A long walk, one eternity after another.

At this moment there was nothing more poignant to be done. I sat down for once.

And let it all go
Away
Away
Away
.





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Written in this book
English Stuffs
yup XD
Writer
Noetta
Stranger in the Night
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