Scrolling through the phone again—
a headline, a meme, a thread, the end.
A pause: to go outside, or be alone?
The thought flickers, then fades.

The need for coffee arrives quietly,
but only after the weight of laundry,
spilling like undone days across the floor.
Perhaps… perhaps later.

No more hard traces, just a faint blur,
a mind that drifts, choosing rest at last.
Only emptiness in a quiet slur,
whispering, everything has passed.

It’s a kind of farewell to an old self,
and a meeting with an uncertain void—
a portrait of scar placed on the shelf,
daring the numb glance to avoid.

One thing remains: reheat the coffee.
Goodbye, goodbye to the old me.