THE LONGEST MONTHS

Another month had passed.

Maybe five weeks, if I was counting right—but time blurred more easily now. Not because it moved fast, but because every day felt the same. Wake up early. Shower before anyone else needed the bathroom. Catch the crowded train. Do the work. Answer emails. Return calls. Stay out of the way. Keep your head down.

It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't even particularly interesting. But it was mine. And that was something.

I'd gotten better at pretending I was okay.