You wake up at 5 a.m.. Your first sensations are an alarm beeping and a harsh cold, despite your piled blankets. You stare at the gray ceiling for ten minutes, thinking about life, then get up, brush your teeth, and heat Cup Noodles for breakfast. As the microwave hums, you stare out at the snowy streets. Will the winter ever end?
"Screw it", you say abruptly, and turn on a playlist.

You’re biking faster and faster, until your legs give and you burn with the fire of pure being. You stand on the pedals and feel the wind rush through your hair. The setting sun scorches the heavens with resplendent reds and golds; the east is a resigned, faded purple, twinkling with its first stars. Cars rush around you, ripping warm, dusty winds to your nape, their taillights chasing each other to the horizon.
Maybe you’ll get some dinner at a gas station, but now, you’re savoring every moment. The skies are sprawling and endless, clouds towering to unfathomable heights; a lone cell tower stands in the distance, its light serenely blinking. You’re alone in your world and free.

You’re in the car with a friend you’re weirdly close to. The two of you make idle talk, but when you glance at them from the corner of your eye, your heart skips a beat; you forget what you were going to say. You have some special feelings for them, and perhaps they have some, too, but because it’s complicated, both of you know it’ll never work out.
Instead, you sit together and put on old songs, reminiscing on old teachers, giving life advice. Cracking jokes, as always. There’s so much you want to say, but you try to ignore it all — ignore the tensening air, ignore who they’ll find when they forget you. Ignore how much they truly mean to you.

You’re working at a thrift store in Bumfuck, Arkansas. A few people visit in the afternoon — mostly teens, old people, or immigrants — sifting through gaudy T-shirts and souvenir shot-glasses. But most of the time, you’re alone at the counter, standing under the bright, sterile lights, listening to the same songs play on the radio as day blurs into day.
Page created March 2, 2026. Page inspired by saint-images’