Sunday. Another Day.
Morning light creeps through the thin gaps in my curtain, casting pale streaks of gold across the floor. Dust particles hang in the air, shimmering faintly as they drift through the quiet shafts of sunlight. My eyes half-open, but I don't move. My body feels heavy beneath the thin blanket, like I've been hollowed out and left to sink into the mattress. Even breathing feels like too much effort — thin and shallow, stirring faintly against the heavy stillness of the room.
Yesterday…
My gaze drifts toward the ceiling. Cracks in the plaster form faint spiderwebs, barely visible in the morning light. The soft hum of the breeze seeps through the small crack in the window, stirring the edge of the curtain. Birds are chirping somewhere outside — distant, cheerful, and entirely at odds with the empty weight pressing down on my chest.