(I wrote this and submitted on accident without logging in. I tried to delete that prompt and rewrite it here.)

Last night I stood on my balcony overlooking Central Park. My skin tightened under the charcoal face mask, and I could practically feel my pores shrinking. The air was stale and thick, but the twinkling city lights calmed me.

This morning, I found myself standing in the smallest city center I’ve ever seen. A small stone church stood proudly at one end of the street while the other end seemed to disappear amongst the acres of farmland. I forced my way into the only coffee shop I could find.

“One latte with extra foam and oat milk,” I snapped, flipping through Instagram.

“We don’t serve that here, Sugar”, the barista scoffed. Her fingers danced across the tiled countertop impatiently. “We have black coffee. Would you like cream and sugar?”

“Ugh, fine. Stevia, no cream.” I rolled my eyes.

“We have sugar. Take it or leave it.”

As I went about my day, I grew increasingly desperate. There was one clothing store, and everything was itchy and obnoxious and sold with a side of groceries. I couldn’t find a single dry bar, and my hair was crying for attention. Everyone here stopped me to chat. Couldn’t they see how busy I am? Apparently not…

Then it happened. Just as the sun started to set. Blues and purples and pinks danced across the sky. My breath seemed to slow as it got darker. Dots of light began to sprinkle their way across the sky.”, growing brighter with every second. I could feel all of my problems slipping away. No lattes? No problem. Lost my gorgeous city apartment to developers? Who cares. I thought nothing could compare to my city lights. Boy, was I wrong! If every night gave me these stars, I knew I could adapt. I can adapt.