had a tiny day with my tiny drink but a very old friend (who is let’s say, 68?) he keeps on telling me he’s old even though he’s barely 35, and in my terms it is 25 based on a NEW YORK state of mind, whatever. we talked about purpose, or lack of it. i figured i have none, but i am filled with dreams and ambitions, but they lead me nowhere in a grand scheme of things. i asked myself, what if that won’t be enough? what if i sit in my european apartment, somewhere in paris or, in the best case, new york, with my kind nerdy husband, a cat, and an incredibly successful career in writing, and still not feel content? what is this blank space between me and this feeling of fulfillment? it can’t be the same distance between my bed and New York, nor could it be the red thread between me and my almighty soulmate shivering in questions, what is this distance? how do i shorten it? how do i make my life feel like its mine?