The New Me

by Halle Butler

I’m reminded of how afraid I am to die, and how every morning is just one more used-up day.

There’s a lot of repetition in my life. No real routine or narrative, just a lot of repetition,

It should be easier to feel good.

I turn the conversation to my job, where things are less operatic but very likely more depressing. I tell her that I feel like my life is completely meaningless and empty.

I step into the shower and almost faint, an image of taking the day by the throat and bashing its head against the wall floating in my mind.

I try to cry and think about the things that I’ll be grateful for in the future, once I have my life together a little bit more.

I wonder if she ever cries for me, or if they’re worried about me, and then cry myself to sleep.

Somewhere in the circle of Millie’s time on Earth, she spent a sleepless night mulling things over. She was no longer in the part of life where things changed. Her actions from here on out would carry more permanence, could no longer be easily swapped out for something new. Realizing this, she felt panic, deep and wide and boundless, and then she felt release.