The journey to an ok
I was standing in my kitchen holding a knife, when I realised I had been wanting to make my own dinner since I was six, but I never quite learned how to hold something sharp, without thinking about how much it could hurt if the pressure applied was to the wrong thing.Â
I have been tired for the last four months, and a few days ago a friend who I havent seen in weeks, texted me asking if I was okay, and if I would mind going to a party with them. They know I hate parties, but they still asked. I wanted to say no for my own sanity, but hey theres no better excuse for agony than having a night out that you know will end up with crying at night.
and so I left for the party, and I dressed all fancily and nicely and said the right things, and hoped my timing was good. I hadnât been out for a while, the air felt like an intrusive thought coursing through my veins, the buzzing of the chatter and the clicking of the glasses resounding all around me.
I wondered what it would have felt like with you around me.
But this was my own thing to go through,you didnât have to hold my hand anymore, I am all grown up and covered in perfume now. Holding a glass of whiskey I havenât taken a sip out of yet. I stay most of the night, the party deteriorates into moments of silence broken by tablespoons touching porcelain and whispers transfered from one ear to another.
No one asks me how I have been, but I see the look of surprise in their eyes increase with each moment I stay, my friend is long gone, am glad they never promised to stay. No one asks my anything related to my life, I am thankful for their hesitancy to get involved. I sit down in the kitchen table, all liqueur stains and bread crumbs, spilled milk on the floor. I get a red notification button on my phone. Itâs half past 4, someone else asking me if I am alright. I chug the whiskey down my throat, same one as before. I leave through the backdoor and sent back an - I am okay.














