It’s another sad day for some reason. Everything was good, I was having fun but then I had to read a few memories. Memories that sting and cut and bleed like misery itself was clutching my stomach, feasting on me and enjoying my personalized torment.

I view the world in a slanted view. It doesn’t seem real, this doesn’t seem real. How can it be? Existing is like running arrends over and over again, a fathomless image of a life that blinks before your eyes before your swept away into the desert. A place where you are forgotten, where what you did isn’t really important. Why do we keep living? Why do we sigh and wish for the next day when it will just be like the last. Why do we suffer through the cold lonely nights to seek the temporary warmth of the sun in the morning. What will bring me peace? Heh, peace…its like a forbidden fruit, something that is shown but is never meant to be grabbed.

People tell me I’m so wise and special and yet here I am... wishing I was someone else, wishing I was the couple next door so full of joy with no real purpose…simply existing and being contempt. What will sooth my hunger for peace, what will fill my stomach with tasty treats of luscious extravagant fruits? Why does it appear that everyone is in such good spirits, and when you hear about the one whose not…why won’t they share with me?

It’s as if I’m reaching out for air…it’s all around me, but it slips through your hands with such ease. How can I be expected to do so much, when I can’t even live with myself. These days crying has even lost it’s merits….what’s the point? It solves nothing, it makes you feel worst – and nobody is around to hear it. Am I crying out for myself? Am I expecting some deeper memory of myself to surface, some deeper understanding to surface and make things all better? Should I even really believe in such a thing? I just don’t know anymore…but who really does.