Shore to My Sea

December 31st, 2021.
The glow of the moon is unusually bright tonight, seemingly participating in the city's festive mood. Clouds attempt to obscure it, but silver rays spill into your lonely bedroom, illuminating the mess on your study table—a testament to your struggle to prepare for an upcoming interview.
A shiver runs through you, the cold biting. You close the window, teeth chattering, catching sight of teenagers on bikes outside, oblivious to the chill. A slow smile touches your lips, a sense of detachment washing over you. New Year's Eve. You hadn't even realized.
Pulled by an unseen force, your feet carry you to the study table. The bottom drawer, stiff from disuse, groans open, revealing an old journal. Sticky notes peek from worn pages, the binding coming undone in places.
Your fingers trace the cover lightly, hesitant to delve into the depths within. Worlds long gone, never returning. Worlds you are no longer a part of.
The moment passes. The curl of emotion stills. The drawer clicks shut, a soft finality. You pull a shawl around you, switch off the lamp, and the room plunges into darkness, leaving you with the moonlight and the weight of forgotten things.
