The Hollow Hours

 

Days off. 

For most people, they’re the best days. 

The ones they look forward to. 

The reason they work hard

To spend time with family, 

with friends, 

with joy.

 

But for me, 

they’re the days I dread the most.

The days I feel most hollow. 

The days I sink deeper into the shadows.

 

At work, 

for a fraction of a second, 

I feel human. 

While I’m putting on my act,

I feel like I’m part of this grand scheme called society.

 

But on my days off, 

I’m just a ghost wandering through my own apartment. 

No energy to do anything. 

No energy to eat. 

No joy in the things that used to matter.

 

Even the things I have to do

The things I should be doing

Feel distant. 

Detached. 

Pointless.

 

At home, 

I feel cut off from the outside world. 

Like I’ve slipped through the cracks and no one noticed.

 

These are the hollow hours. 

Where silence isn’t peace. 

It is weight. 

It is gravity. 

It is the reminder that without the performance, 

I slip behind the curtain— like an actor exiting the stage, 

costume off, 

applause faded

 

and I disappear.