Nothing in Particular

It's been a month since I came home to New York, returned to the beat of marching suits peddling their way to work every day. My brain has been reshaped into a perfect cube within the confines of my daily routine. In the morning, wake up. Commute. Work. Lunch. Work. Commute. Dinner. Sleep. Repeat. And the beginning meets the end and the end start all over again. Until, one day, while I was making my way half-way through one lap, I felt a trace of regret. The regret changed into sadness and the sadness was tinged with emptiness. There is no word or syllable that can explain where these feelings originated. Perhaps it was exhaustion from commuting, perhaps it was soaked up from my environment, perhaps it was the come-down from an all-weekend festival, or maybe when we're busiest with work, we're the least ourselves. But I do wonder what it would have been like to have stayed.