an homage to simone de beauvoir.

I open my eyes only to come to the drastic realisation that I did not drink the tea I made last night. At least I’m in my own bedroom.

The room is a mess and the floor is plenty of empty bottles of red wine and dirty clothes - a clear reflection of my mind, I see.
The sun is high, it must be around 2 p.m. or so.
I put my trench coat on and I run to the jazz bar.
I can see Jack welcoming some guests, drunk as usual.
“Was I here last night?”
“You are asking as if you are not here every night...”

I again created a huge mess in that black hole that my existence is fulfilling.
I ask Jack to pour me some Bourgogne Rouge and I wait.
The sunset is happening, once again.
I should find a job - since my father died I’ve been living with his money and that must be changed.

A woman in her 30s who lives through a dead man. Simone De Beauvoir, I am sorry I failed you.