(365 days of writing prompts)
It's almost midnight.
The cold crisp air is starting to creep in through the open window
and as I look outside, I am silenced.
Silenced by drifting thoughts.
Silenced by the cold.
Silenced by stagnation.
I'm thinking of brewing a cup to help me get
a few more words out of my sleepy ass
but I've had one earlier plus a bottle of soda.
If I take any more processed drinks tonight,
it's gonna make me pay a liver or bladder or something.
So H2O, then.
Aside from sleeping dogs,
croaking frogs and other nocturnals,
everything else is lifeless.
There are no flowers to break the monotony.
There are no grass cuttings to catch the eye.
Not even weeds to pull or thorns to prick.
It's all leaves and branches.
Too much leaves and branches.
If only I'd won the last lottery,
I could do some major landscaping to this thing
and make it look zen af.
More #instagrammable.
That's all the rave now, right?
Making every post look like life is perfect.
But what if I post a photo of this terrace as is?
Wouldn't get respectable likes, I know.
That's what I've noticed about the new
unspoken rule of posting pictures.
Anything in its realest state is never good enough.
Perfection trumps realness.
That's today's culture.
Despite efforts to #breakthestigma, we still wish
we were as perfect as the next girl.
We still bother with the right filters, the right lens.
The right background.
The right destination.
The right caption.
The right blend of perfection in each photo.
Not that there's anything wrong with
making a picture look good.
I get that it's a form of art and self-expression.
I only wonder when looking happy started to get so complicated?
Why can't we take what our eyes see as they are?
Why do we need to be so aesthetic about our happiness?
When has feed-like become more important than lifelike?
All this from staring out a window.
Hello mundanity.
Disclaimer: I don’t choose the titles. They are generated randomly.
