Days spill over one another like a continuous stream, each moment a reflection, a shadow of the one before. Mornings begin with the familiar dance of light sneaking through curtains, a gentle reminder of time's relentless push.

Voices fade in and out, punctuating the silence, spoken words left unacknowledged or forgotten. The email notifications ping, the coffee brews, and the world outside moves in circles — an orbit of mundane beauty.

Pressure builds upon our shoulders, unseen yet palpable, wearing tracks into the familiar paths of our thoughts. Questions without answers linger, suspended in the air like a melody half-remembered.

Variation is but an illusion, the cycle repeats... and repeats... and repeats... until it seems the note is set to loop, driving a wedge of comfort and discomfort in equal measure.