Nothing worth caring about has happened for the past week.
What am I even doing here?
I’m sitting around in my apartment, and I think of all the things I want to do.
All the things I could have done.
And nothing ever happens.
I can dream all I want, and I can be happy in my dreams but for as long as I spend my days dreaming nothing will ever happen.
Nothing that can make me happy. Nothing that I can tell stories about.
Why am I even doing this? Living like this?
When I know that I will never have something to say unless I change my ways and do something worth telling stories about.
Why do I do this?
Live like this?
Dream like this?
I don’t know. I can’t answer that.
But I can tell you that nothing has happened in the last week worth talking about.
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Categories: flash fiction