each day begins the same. the alarm rings, the sun rises, and i go through the motions, trapped in an endless loop of repetition. the monotony of it all presses down on me like an invisible weight, suffocating yet subtle, persistent yet quiet. nothing ever truly changes, only slight variations in an otherwise predictable sequence. the same roads, the same faces, the same conversations that barely register.
somewhere along the way, i stopped questioning it. i used to dream of something more—something meaningful, something that ignited a spark deep inside me. but the slow erosion of time has dulled those dreams, sanding them down until they barely resemble what they once were. now, i move through the days like a ghost, present but unfeeling, existing but not truly alive.
there is a certain comfort in routine, but that comfort is also a prison. it dulls the edges of life, making each moment blend into the next until years have passed and nothing feels different. it is a quiet kind of despair, one that doesn’t scream or announce itself with grand gestures. instead, it lingers in the pauses between moments, in the silence of familiar spaces, in the realization that life is slipping away in increments too small to notice.
i tell myself that someday, things will be different. that change is just around the corner, waiting for the right moment. but the days continue, identical and unyielding, and i am left to wonder—what if this is all there is?
thoughts of a dying athiest 