𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 - 𝐁.𝐄

three - gone

•
julia.
•

mid to late june.

i spent the early hours of the morning tangled deep within my sheets, staring at the ceiling as the minutes crawled by, each second dragging me further into exhaustion. sleep had abandoned me long ago, leaving me wide awake in the suffocating darkness of my bedroom. by the time i rolled over to check the clock on my fully-charged phone, the glowing numbers read six a.m. sharp. six a.m. and i was already awake, my mind too restless to let me slip back into oblivion. fuck my life.

with a groan, i forced myself to sit upright, the bedsheets crinkling beneath me as i rubbed my forehead, trying to massage away the headache that was already beginning to form. my thoughts were scattered, a tangled mess of half-formed ideas and lingering dreams. the haze of early morning clung to me, making it hard to distinguish reality from the remnants of my dreams. i let out a heavy sigh, my breath fogging up the cool morning air as i tried to gather the shattered pieces of my consciousness, pulling myself together enough to face another relentless day.

i start my morning routine by unplugging my phone from the charger, i allow the cord to slip from my hand and smack against the nightstand with a soft thud. i focus on standing up, my body protesting as i roll sluggishly off the bed, trying to shake off the lingering exhaustion.

i begin to lazily straighten the sheets, still managing to smooth them down with effort and much care. my mother had washed them yesterday, the fabric still holding onto that fresh, clean scent, but i don't tuck them in too tight. i prefer to leave them loose, so i can tug on them tonight when the weight of the day settles in.

as i stumble and drag my feet towards the bathroom, i rub my eyes, trying to clear the blur of sleep that still clings to my vision. my eyelids are heavy, half-shut, as if they're still resisting the fact that it's morning. the bathroom is quiet until i turn on the faucet, letting the water rush over my electric toothbrush. sprinkles of the cold water splashes onto my hand, waking me up just a little bit more as i squeeze a line of whitening toothpaste along the blue bristles before putting the brush into my mouth. i turn it on, the soft whirr of the motor filling the small space as the bristles spin against my teeth, the minty taste spreading across my tongue, and i can't help but feel the routine start to pull me into the day ahead.

i spit out the toothpaste after roughly two-and-a-half minutes of brushing, the minty foam i spit swirls down the drain. i grab a small white micro-fiber cloth from the small organized rack underneath my sink. i dab the soft fabric at the corners of my mouth, feeling the softness against my skin. everything in this bathroom, from the smooth tiles to the sleek fixtures, fits perfectly with the stockholm aesthetic i've curated for my bedroom—clean lines, muted tones, navy blues, whites, grays, everything i desired for both my bedroom and bathroom in its familiar place.

i catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, my reflection softened by the early morning light that shown through the bathroom window and peeking through the blinds. i'm still wearing a blue oversized crewneck i slept in, its fabric worn and comforting. it hangs loosely over my frame, paired with my favorite low-rise gray sweats from brandy melville. i don't feel like changing; the outfit feels like a protective shell, something familiar and toasty.

before moving on with my morning routine, i stand there for a moment, just looking at myself, still attempting to fully wake up though i've only gotten a few hours of sleep. with a resigned sigh, i begin my skincare routine, the cool serums and creams soothing against my smooth and tired skin.

i step out of my bathroom and reach for the light switch on my way out, only to realize it was never flicked on. the soft morning light filtering through the semi-closed blinds had been more than enough to guide me throughout my awakening routine.