Out of curiosity, I asked an AI to write a short, metaphorical story about how my 2025 looked from the outside. Not a summary. Not an achievement list. Just a story.

This is what came out.

I’m honestly not sure how to feel about it. It’s a bit unsettling. But it sounds… true. Or at least very close to how this year actually felt. So I’m leaving it here.

***

The city doesn’t ask who you are.
It only asks if you show up.

She does. Every day. Shifts, routine, tired hands, work that keeps things moving but never pretends to be more than it is. Useful. Real. Enough.

What the city never sees is what she carries home.

There is a story that refuses to fit into schedules. It waits for silence. It demands precision. Its voices cannot be blended without losing something essential.

Some days, it feels like an unnecessary weight. Life would be easier without it. Simpler. Quieter. The city would approve.

Every time she considers letting it go, something inside her goes quiet too — not pain, not drama, just a thinning of meaning.

So she stays.

Not out of optimism. Out of honesty. She works carefully. She keeps the lines clear. She doesn’t rush resolution.

Nothing resolves anyway. The future stays unclear. Stability remains conditional. There are no milestones to post about.

The city remains the city.
Work remains work.
No one hands out rewards for endurance.

But the story is still there.
Changed. Fragile. Alive.

And that, this year, was enough.