Another year has passed. Friends have shifted base. Some have married, thereby transcending that permanent third base that they kept dreaming of. Irony abounds.
Some have died. Without ever realising they were my friends. There are many of those. Some are slowly slipping away into the crowds.
And I stand here, on the corner of the street, wondering if I have been here before. Of course I haven't. But it feels so familiar. Yet, something is different.
The loneliness feels strange. It was my thing. Put me in a room with nothing to eat, drink, or no one to talk to. I would still emerge sane and talking to myself. Now, myself feels strange.
I drown out my voice in huge headphones that blast out old school. So old that people my age talk of musicians with names I can't spell.
I don't like the voice I hear. It is pretentious. Holier than thou. It hurts. Like a missed homework I should have completed. Like the time I lazed around and forgot to give mom her blood pressure tablet. The guilt and regret are fatal.
So, I throw myself into my routine. Not productive work. A routine. To keep reminding myself I am doing something. Though I know it is all worthless. I am still an amateur.
I am still standing at the same corner, wondering if I am lost. Perhaps I am.