There’s a pile of untouched papers to my right and a stack of books waiting to be cracked open and discovered. Dust drifts through the air as sunlight beams through my lilac room. I lay on my bed trembling. I think about what happened last week of how he didn’t even look at me. I think about how we used to be mistaken as a couple and now I’m questioning our friendship. I roll onto my stomach and absentmindedly check my phone hoping that Instagram posts would inspire me to get off my feet and take pictures again. It only makes me long for more adventures just so I could display the perfect sunset for my followers. Therefore, I continue lying on my bed. I let my memories drown me again and when I surface, the sun had already set and I had a red mark on my face. I take a shower, letting my tears mingle with the suds and hoping that I’m cleansed. Instead, I dive right into nostalgia and wait until my eyes droop. I write about my day and how I didn’t do anything and how I aspire to do more. Before I fall asleep and greet the sun, a question enters my mind. What am I waiting for?