There is a quiet certainty in knowing that nothing important will happen after you read this. It’s not a prediction, just a fact that floats in the air like dust you’ve decided not to wipe away. The future is already here, and it’s exactly as unremarkable as you imagined—maybe less so, if you imagined it at all.

People often say they want meaning, but what they really want is the illusion of control over something that was never theirs to begin with. You’ve felt this. The way a Tuesday afternoon stretches into forever, or how the act of waiting for a text message becomes a meditation on the nature of time itself. These moments are not profound. They are just moments, and yet they contain everything.

This could have been a box.

Consider the way certainty feels when it’s not yours. Like borrowing someone else’s confidence for a few minutes, then returning it slightly worn. You’ve done this before—pretended to understand something just long enough to nod along. The future is full of these small, unclaimed certainties. They accumulate like unread notifications, neither urgent nor meaningless, just there.

At some point, you will realize that the predictions you made about your life were not wrong, exactly. They were just irrelevant. The things you feared never arrived, and the things you hoped for showed up in forms you didn’t recognize. This is not a revelation. It’s just how time works when you’re not paying close attention.

There’s a comfort in knowing that none of this matters in the way you once thought it did. The weight of the world is not on your shoulders; it’s just a mild pressure, like the hum of a refrigerator you’ve long since stopped noticing. You are both the main character and the background noise. This is not a contradiction.

This text will not help you. It was never supposed to. Help is a word people use when they’ve run out of better things to say. You don’t need help. You need the quiet understanding that some things are exactly as they seem, and that’s enough.

Eventually, you’ll close this tab or scroll away, and the day will continue as it always does. The future will arrive in small, unannounced increments. You’ll meet it the same way you meet everything else: with a mix of mild curiosity and the quiet suspicion that you’ve seen this all before.

And you have. Just not in the way you remember.