He woke up with a terrible hangover, groaning and grimacing in pain. He'd clubbed all night, drinking and playing with women.
His phone beeped, and he picked it up from his bed. Sure, I'll meet you at the hotel tonight, a reply to a text he'd sent earlier. He sighed, putting the phone down and running a hand through his hair.
His eyes flickered around his room that was so unkept, with clothes littered all over, bottles of alcohol, the used cigarettes that laid on his cupboard, and packs of condom.
"What kind of life am I living?" A question he'd asked himself far too many times, with little to no effort to make a change.
He was only twenty-three, and a womanizer, an alcoholic, a stoner — he was all of those bad things, only that now he felt so miserable. He had no stable relationship, no life goals, vision, purpose, direction, dreams... nothing. He was just living.
He struggled to lift his heavy weight off his bed, and more than ever, he was determined to try again. See everyday as another chance to improve yourself, a quote he'd always held on to, kept playing in his head. He needed a new beginning.
He then took out a notebook, and a pen, and wrote down his New Year resolution.
The end
___________
Written In December
2019
