Where did the time go?

Where did the time go?
I blinked, and somehow, it’s been years. Years since I felt that raw spark inside me that hunger, that curiosity, that simple thrill of just being alive.

Now, the days slip by without meaning.
Wake up. Eight hours of remote work, stuck in a chair, staring at a screen.
Eat. Scroll. Sleep.
Repeat.

It’s a quiet kind of suffocation.
Not loud, not dramatic.
Just an endless loop of monotony, so smooth and silent that you don’t even realize you’re drowning. Not at first.

Month after month, year after year it’s all the same.
A conveyor belt life.
Move along, nothing to see here.

Is it concerning?
Is this really living?
Or am I just a shadow, ticking boxes, waiting for… what exactly?
The next weekend? The next payout?
Retirement?

It’s strange how you can have everything that should make you happy.
A job, a roof over your head, food on the table, no one breathing down your neck.
The comfort of remote work, the illusion of freedom.
And yet inside, there’s this gnawing emptiness that won’t leave.

People say comfort is a blessing.
Maybe it is.
But too much comfort?
Too much routine?
It’s a slow death one you don’t even fight, because you’ve forgotten how to want more.

I ask myself sometimes
What’s the point of living like this?
What’s the point of existing if you’re not really alive inside?
If the highlight of your day is getting to sleep again, just to escape into nothingness?

I miss the days when time felt alive.
When a single afternoon felt like an eternity because it was full full of dreams, of laughter, of plans, of feelings that meant something.
Now, whole years vanish like smoke, and I barely remember anything.
Just a blur of sameness.

It’s not that I’m sad all the time.
It’s worse I’m numb.
Like living with the brightness dial turned all the way down, barely any color left in the picture.

Maybe it’s not just me.
Maybe it’s this world.
Maybe we’re all just pretending to be okay, moving through the motions, burying the parts of ourselves that once burned brightly.

But still, something inside me whispers, weak but stubborn:
There has to be more.
There has to be more than just surviving days, more than just crossing off years.

Maybe the point isn’t to chase happiness like some prize at the end.
Maybe it’s in remembering how to feel again.
How to be curious again.
How to want something again even if it’s small, even if it’s stupid, even if it scares you.

Maybe the biggest rebellion in a life like this is refusing to go completely numb.
Refusing to believe that this loop is all there is.

Maybe the first step is simply admitting that this isn’t enough and letting yourself want something more, even if you don’t know what it is yet.

Because the truth is, time will keep moving whether we live or not.
Whether we feel or not.
And if we don’t fight for even a flicker of something real inside us, we’ll blink again and find ourselves wondering,
Where did the time go?