I walk through the lush forest, the earthy bracken crackling as I trudge along the miserable woods. Tall, still trees stand with wisdom and creak with the wind. I fall onto my knees and sob into my khaki combats.
Why am I feeling so desperate? I keep asking myself the same question. Why am I here? What's the point of living if I don't do anything?
People have passions, purposes, things they were born to do, dimensions, things they're naturally excellent at, things they cpuldn't live without. Stuff like - art, photography, fashion, building, music, horses.
Me? I don't have anything like that. No purpose to fulfill while I'm on this Earth. Maybe I have to be patient. Wait till I'm in my 20's. Well, I don't want to bloody wait.
I raise my head, my mouse brown hair plastered to my face. The taste of salt ligering on my lips. I turn and walk away from the woods. I take one longing look back as I exit the paradise for the last time.
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