i'm not living, i'm just passing time

there’s a peculiar feeling that seeps in on quiet afternoons, when the sun hangs lazily in the sky, and i find myself sitting in front of a screen, scrolling through an endless feed of other people’s lives. i should be working, or doing something more productive, but instead, i’m here—existing in a sort of numb haze. and that’s when it hits me: i’m not …