I sat on the couch in my small, yet somehow charming bungalow and took a drink. It was the first of many I’d be taking that night, but I was okay with it. I had nowhere to be, nobody to see.
Or perhaps it was quite the opposite.
I took another drink and leaned forward in search of an open pack of cigarettes. As I grabbed the last smoke and crumpled up the box, I looked around the room at the framed artwork and modest furniture that surrounded me.
The walls were mine; there was no doubt about that.
I exhaled slowly and thought about the day. The day. I thought about how different my life was exactly one year ago today. How quickly it changed, and how it somehow didn’t stop.
Was this momentum or something more sinister?
This time last year, I was being crushed by the weight of a mountain. This time last year, I was just digging himself out.
And now I sat with a different weight firmly resting on my shoulders.
But like the walls, the weight was mine.
I swirled the ice around in my glass and watched it melt.
Where would I be next year?