to feel misplaced, like you grew up in the wrong century.
everything you have experienced, seen, and said - seems foreign. as if you could maybe have had the chance to experience the world in another state, if only you were born in a different time, or maybe not be born at all.
mornings are the toughest, waiting for that little package to arrive, making it possible to see the world through new eyes, clearer eyes. longing to forget the current events and losses, and hopefully hoping that something will change.
the days are alright, they get worse when the sun hasn’t popped out for a couple of days or weeks. they get worse when its the same small talk, same opinions and same self-indulgence. they get better when and once gratefulness is found.
nights are like nothing happened. the feeling of something eventful that might be coming by. just to be disappointed by new regulations and less freedom. to then take to the bottle or a puff. momentarily changing your mindset for a little bit. indulgence, however, leaves you dissatisfied with the decadence that surrounds you and those around you.
but you don’t recognise it as decadence, for you it’s your natural privileged nature. the 3€ prosecco bottle, the 0,79€ mango from peru and the weed that you never wondered its origin. see, for you its your normal life, you don’t question why or how; questioning would only bring anxiety.
and you wouldn’t want that. it’s easier to jump to the phone, ignorantly scrolling through the same feed, sipping on that toxic liquid and letting the present become a satisfactory, decadent escape.
you fit into this decadent world so well that you don't question if you've been misplaced. in order to ease the anxiety, nothing is to be questioned. until you wake up the next morning, waiting for that little package. hoping you were born another time, or perhaps not at all.
