38_The isolation

Eloise

The apartment was too quiet.

I sat at my drafting table, pencil poised above fresh paper, but the lines wouldn’t come. Ideas flickered at the edges of my mind, fragments of shape, texture, color, but the moment I tried to capture them, they scattered like startled birds.

I stared at the blank page until my eyes blurred.

Outside, the city pulsed, horns, sirens, voices. Life went on. But in here, in this small cocoon where I should’ve felt safe, I felt nothing but ...