I Saved the Draft Again

Everyone's badge clicked out hours ago. I'm still here, the lights in the far corner gone motion-sensor dark because nobody's moving over there.

The letter's been a draft for three weeks now. Two lines. I keep opening it, reading my own name at the bottom like it belongs to someone braver than me.

The cleaner ran the vacuum past my desk and didn't look up. I had the resignation open on the screen. felt like she could see it. she couldn't.

my manager messaged at six. great work today, really. i stared at that until the screen dimmed. great work. i don't even remember what i did today. i remember refreshing my bank app and doing the math on how many months i could go without this.

there's a mug on my desk from a job three jobs ago. company that doesn't exist anymore. i kept the mug. i don't know why i keep ending up here, just later and later, like staying past everyone proves something.

i could send it. it's right there. one shortcut, done.

i closed the laptop instead. picked up the mug. i'll wash it in the morning, same as every morning. that's the part nobody warns you about. how easy it is to keep showing up to the thing you already left.