Time moves ridiculously fast these days.
Weeks and months blur into each other.
Things that happened a year ago feel like they happened a couple of months back.
It’s hard to get a grip on time — what was last year, what was the year before?

One day just rolls into the next.
At night, I fall asleep almost instantly.

What on earth happened to the energetic late nights?

How did drinking coffee slowly on the couch suddenly outrank almost everything else?
It feels like pure luxury.
Or coffee and a newspaper at the table —
the weight of the paper in your hands as you turn the page.

There isn’t much space for thoughts to wander freely.

And time feels scarce in general.
It’s hard to get everything done in a day — everything you’d want to do.

The year has just begun.
I thought maybe I’d manage to hold onto it better this time.
But it seems to be moving just as quickly as the previous ones.

And in the middle of all this speed,
the children are suddenly almost adults —
not three and five anymore.

I had prepared for New Year’s Eve.
There were snacks and sparkling wine,
drinks for the girls,
candles and flowers,
the setting carefully thought through —
where and how we’d watch the fireworks.

It turned out neither teenager was planning to be home.
They had their own plans — friends, boyfriends.

So I sat alone on my couch, waiting for the year to change.
Surrounded by all of it — the snacks, the flowers, the candles.
The children out living their lives.
Friends, relatives, everyone somewhere else.

Just me and the atmosphere I had built.

I put on my yellow faux fur coat
and watched the fireworks from my balcony.

I was so goddamn happy.