It was like any other yesterday. The fallen leaves from the fiddle-leaf fig, sunlight filtering through the apartment shades. I kept a lukewarm espresso by my bed, reminding me what could be. If any day were to start with a call from my manager, this would be that yesterday.

Refusing to leave bed, I steadied my elbow on the carpet. Reaching out as far as I could balance, and grabbing my workstation laptop; it was time to get to work. A decade of little audience wouldn’t stop my writing, even if it had stopped my…

A sudden ringing of the phone, and I was called to by an angel. Had I passed? Had I lost my way? No, but she missed me. There was work to do. And she wanted me to remember that she loved me. I sent her away. After all, I’m far from heaven. I need to earn love. I need to buy it with blood.

Back to the matter at hand. Back to my life. I can’t win at life without playing my cards. The joke must go on.

Staring at the empty page, I run an anxious canine along my lip. All my life, I feared reception. That those few who read my lines would take pity on me. That the lesser who enjoyed my words hoped for a kind of kinship, was beyond hope.

An unsteady finger shouted “gangway” to the board. It had no means. By whose own authority does it move? I couldn’t let the world know where I am. But who am I? When will it be time for me to move on? After all.

“It was like any other yesterday.”