Morning coffee: bitter with whispers of yesterday's tasks. The kettle screams, but who listens? Sometimes the steam reveals more than the pages of dusty books. Do I remember to call the dentist? The list fades like footprints in sand. The sun glints off forgotten chores, each one a specter of responsibility cloaked in daily fog.
I sit, tapping fingers across keyboard shadows, crafting emails that carry the weight of unspoken thoughts. The muse dances just out of reach, a spinning ghost in the corner of my eye. Lunch is a sandwich, half-eaten, though only the crust remains. Crumbs of time scatter across the desk like small relics of a life lived between tasks.
Evening descends, draping the room in gentle darkness. Do the lights flicker for good reason? I should check the circuit. Or perhaps it's just the ghosts playing their tricks again. A walk outside reveals the night sky, littered with stars, each one a distant memory of something once whole. The streets echo, carrying the faint laughter of voices unseen.