What is it about Blogspot's Times New Roman font, which is generally treated as the anal version of typography, that feels like the presence of an old friend?
Everyone is going back to their respective workplaces. To their place in society. To their designated function and purpose.
And there's me.
When everyone's busy doing what they're doing, where do I fit in?
The anxiety of being discovered inhibits me from being my true self.
If only I had known the bitter shame of failing to conform, I would deny any form of social awareness.
Tick. Tock.
You have 45 minutes left.
What do you want to be when you grow up?
I just want to disappear.
I'm nothing but a walking shadow of my remnants. Crumbling past and decaying memories.
And expectations of once upon a time a prodigy.
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