The lights are low in the living room, the only warmth coming from the lamp on the table. The day’s been long, but I’m not thinking about it now. The match is over, the noise of the stadium long gone. It’s just the quiet now. And I’m fine with that.

I’m sitting back on the couch, feeling the weight of the day finally start to slip off my shoulders. It’s calm. Too many people in my life talk about how football is always in your head, how you’re always planning for the next match or thinking about transfers, but right now? It’s just me.

The city’s alive outside the window, lights flickering, people moving. But here, in this space, everything feels still. Like the world could go on without me, and I wouldn’t even mind. I’m here, and that’s enough.

I lean back a little more, stretching out. The quiet hum of the apartment fills the air, and it’s nice. The soft fabric of the couch, the stillness around me—it’s a change from the noise that usually crowds my mind. The pressure, the expectations, the headlines—they all seem so far away right now.

My hand rests on the arm of the couch, fingers tapping a gentle rhythm, almost without thinking. It’s like everything is just… slowing down. I don’t need anything else in this moment.

For the first time today, I don’t feel the need to plan ahead or wonder what comes next. No thoughts about the game or the next club. No pressure. Just this. It’s nice. Really nice.