Enough | ✔️

+ 45 +

"Excellent as always."

I look down at the perfect score scribbled across the top of my test.

Not always.

"Thanks."

I apathetically spin my pencil around my finger as Mr Whitgift walks away after a brief moment's pause, passing me a look that told me he wanted to say something but refrained from doing so.

The buzz of chatter around me serves as monotonous background noise while I leave my perfect test untouched, feeling rather unattached to it. Why was I so obsessed with getting good grades in the first place? Why did I think it was such a far-fetched goal? And above all else, why do I still feel useless? The initial satisfaction was fleeting; all I'm left with now is an indifferent, blase attitude that's keeping my grades up high but my happiness nowhere near.

Life drones on around me in an endless stream of nothing. I'll keep studying hard. I'll keep doing my best. I'll keep achieving the best. But so what? I graduate; I get a job. Then what? Will I finally be happy?

Is this all there is to life?

I wake up, I attend lectures, I come back tired, I study tired, I sleep tired, and I repeat. Nothing more, nothing less. Maybe one day I treat myself. I visit a cafe for a cup of steaming hot coffee. Then I attend lectures, I come back tired, I study tired, I sleep tired, and I repeat. Nothing more, nothing less.

Life is the biggest thing I know. I can't 'zoom out' anymore than this. I look at the grand scheme of things and I see today, then this week, then this month, and this year, then adulthood, and then life. I can't go further. There is no 'further'.

If this is the biggest thing I've got going for me, I really seems like nothing at all.

I don't want to say I'm miserable. I have food in my stomach and clothes on my body. I have a university to go to and friends to socialise with. I'm not miserable. I'm just largely... unimpressed with my life at the moment. Is this it?

Repetitive day after repetitive day is just a bit... repetitive for me.

But I'll keep going. Because I don't know what else to do. Or if there's anything else to do at all.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

◈ѕlaтer нarтley◈

I drop like a stone onto my bed, my deep exhale echoing like a scream in a cave in my empty apartment.

White medical coat still draped over me, I run a hand through my tousled hair and stare up at the abundance of nothing on my ceiling. It'll be Christmas soon. If we're lucky, snow will settle on brick walls, roofs, and cars, lining the streets like icing on a cake. Everyone will wander around, all bundled up in thick winter coats and sporting reddened noses. Children will gather under the Christmas tree on Christmas day, impatiently waiting to open their gifts. Family will come together around the table to fill their stomachs with food and their hearts with warmth.

And what will I do?

She laughs her addictive laugh, "Despite my shitty parents, my fondest memories are of birthdays and other celebrations. Next, you're gonna tell me you didn't celebrate Christmas either."

I blink at her.She gawks at me.

"You're lying."

I avert my gaze.

"Oh my god, you aren't lying. Dude, we are going to make some damn memories this Christmas, or you're going to go your entire life without any."