Waking up is brutal. Always. Realising that your reality is only dreams. A sucker punch to the stomach. Every morning serving as a reminder that your life is completely useless and the tiny differences you might achieve have no consequence on the big stage, the universe.
I spend each morning lying in bed. Waiting. For what I’m not sure. An epiphany? A sign? Some God-sent angel telling me today life will matter. I will matter. It never happens. And it’s not surprising. Nothing is surprising anymore. Although I know the outcome I can’t stop waiting. The wait is a part of me and I a part of it.
I’m not sure what I want from it. Maybe it’s just as it should be. Me; waiting. And the world keeps spinning.