messy, alive, and falling

Success keeps moving the finish line, and I’m too stubborn to quit the race.

The city buzzed, muffled by thin windows that did a lousy job of shutting it out. Life rolled on out there—cars, people, noise.

Meanwhile, I sat inside, stuck. My apartment reeked of old coffee, crumpled paper, and the kind of dust that settles quietly, waiting for someone to care.

But no one did.

The laptop’s glow hit my face like an interrogation light.

Blink. Blink.

The cursor flickered, smug as hell. It knew I was stalled.

It had patience. I didn’t.

My chest was tight. Like a balloon stretched too far, just begging to pop. I had to nail this. Every piece of it. No room for error. No plan B.

Messing this up wasn’t an option.

Failure lurked, pouring its poison right into my ear.

I shut my eyes, clenching hard, as if squeezing them closed would stop the spiral.

Yeah, no. That never worked. It never does.