Ennui

Ennui

By Maariya

I’ve missed every alarm this week. When I finally, finally, get out of bed, I can still hear them, multiple alarms, ringing in my head discordantly like they’re coming from the rest of the street. Or maybe it’s the echo of my brother’s alarm from the next room. I’m not sure; he doesn’t stir. The rest of the day passes slowly, too slowly, and always the same. Every day I see different people. They’re all wrapped up in their own worlds. I want so desperately to reach out to them and ask if they’re feeling the same sort of melancholy that I am. The library is completely empty this early in the day; I can sit where I like. I change my spot three times - it’s only change, it’ll be okay. I am persistently looking up and waiting for someone to walk past me, someone whose face I recognise, from an old photo or from crowds or a dream. Nobody walks past, nobody pays attention. I (unsuccessfully) get back to work. On my way out I stand in a spot of sunlight for a bit too long. I don’t feel as if it does any good. The melancholy hits me again. Cold coffee and sandwiches. Why am I drinking coffee when I have a whole bottle of water? Maybe I’m just a bad person. I’m hungry within a couple of hours. Bury myself underneath my duvet. Five minutes later, or what feels like five minutes, the alarms start ringing.