Sunday evening

Sunday Evenings Were Invented to Humiliate Teenagers #

Sunday evenings are emotionally violent for absolutely no reason. Especially during winter. You spend two days temporarily remembering freedom exists and then suddenly it’s dark outside at six o’clock and mathematics is waiting on your desk like organized psychological warfare. I came back from G. this afternoon and the train ride felt unusually quiet. Everybody looked tired in the same elegant Italian way: coats, newspapers, silent existential despair. Dad smoked beside the car before dropping me at the station and reminded me three separate times not to forget my history assignment. Love language: administrative concern.

M. hugged me goodbye too quickly near the platform because boys become emotionally inefficient in public places. The entire station smelled like cigarettes, cold metal, coffee, and rain entering every time the doors opened. Now I’m back in M. and the apartment is warm and orderly and faintly perfumed and somehow that makes tomorrow feel even more inevitable. Mom is already preparing clothes for work tomorrow with terrifying efficiency while I’m still psychologically negotiating with reality.

School tomorrow.
Latin tomorrow.
Alarm clock tomorrow.
Human interaction tomorrow.

And yet part of me likes these evenings too.

The transition.
The loneliness.
The strange feeling that life is quietly moving whether you cooperate or not.

THE END.
Remember me,
Eclipse