Secret Thoughts

Boxing Day Is for Leftovers and Secret Thoughts #.

Today the apartment felt slower.

Not sad exactly.
Just exhausted after being beautiful for too many consecutive days.

There were leftover desserts everywhere, abandoned ribbon on chairs, glasses still waiting to be washed, perfume trapped in coats hanging near the entrance. Even the flowers looked tired. Mom spent most of the afternoon barefoot for once, which honestly felt historically significant. She played old records while reorganizing jewelry sketches and drinking espresso slowly near the windows. Outside, M. looked pale silver under winter clouds. School suddenly feels very far away now. Almost imaginary. Which is dangerous because January always arrives violently after holidays and immediately punishes optimism.

Still.

Tonight I kept thinking about the year ending.

2000 sounds enormous.
Not like a year.
Like a door.

Everybody talks about it strangely too, as if computers might explode and civilization collapse because numbers become aesthetically different.

Possible honestly.

I lay on my bed for almost an hour tonight listening to distant traffic and thinking about how much changed in only a few months.

September already feels impossibly far away now.
Before H.
Before routines.
Before M. became part of my weekly geography.
Before E. started narrating our generation like a sarcastic prophet.

I think growing up might just be this: realizing people slowly enter your internal architecture without permission.

And then one day your life sounds different because they exist.

SECRETS THOUGHT.
Remember me,
Eclipse