EVERY day passed by like time was being fast-forwarded. The moon and the sun exchange exposure interchangeably like it was in a blink of light. I don’t know if it was just me, if I am just being overly reacting or using too much metaphor to explain life recently, or how days really pass by and yet, I am still here, trying to find a way of how I can escape from this s.hitty game.
“I hate my damn boring life,” I muttered one day under my breath as I tried to wipe the tables until they shined because they were too clean already. The effort that I was making in this job was not necessary, though. I am a waitress but I clean as well, hoping that this tactic will help me to go back into my home, but days pass by and I am still here, and if I am not holding a rug, I am holding a broom, sweeping
