I’m not sure if this is depression or contentment, I thought to myself, staring into my glass, listening to a flurry of fireworks erupting in the patriotic fever that existed somewhere beyond the walls of my dark apartment. The days are easy enough. I do all the things I love to do. It’s the nights, I thought. It’s then that I realize everything I thought I knew about my life has been erased. That even the people that once made me feel most safe in this world were merely fictional versions of themselves. That I have loved many fantasies and few realities. That there are more falsehoods around me than truths. That I sleep alone.
I let the last thought echo until it was throbbing in my temples, and called it a night.