What a cold day it was today. A cold that froze my very bones, stretching across decades to petrify the light… Sharp and cutting, it tore through the sickly warm puffs of air that the old heater, filled with dust. The despair of the appliance was almost palpable, like Sisyphus, unable to halt the spread of the icy splinters reaching even into the future.
My fingers had already been manacled by the treacherous invader, typing clumsily, delivering instructions that were always incomplete, always insufficient. There I was, struggling against inertia, against my own shadows.
Every keystroke felt like a scream into the void, an attempt to shape something tangible in a world that insists on unraveling. Each lost word… Always someone new appearing, always someone realizing I'm not worth their time after all. An echo repeating itself in goodbyes that were never spoken. What for, anyway? Why try to find meaning in threads that snap before they can even be tied?