I've been having the urge to write all of the daily musings of my dull life or of all of these encased thoughts that has always been pent up within me. You could say that I've lost the inspiration or drive to do just so. The time that I have so boldly claimed that I do not have, has become my downfall. I am feeling a certain void(one that is beyond comprehension on cold nights) that's deeply rooted to the essence of my being.
I am a coward. Too afraid to acknowledge that I have a problem with myself. What else could be the reason behind this undying feeling that has been around for what has seemed to be, the longest time?
I can't do this.
All these thoughts refuses to let up - it has made me into a person that I can barely even recognise any more.
There, I admitted it.
That's my problem.
These greedy hands of mine want nothing else but to feel an ounce of happiness. How am I to attain something that I can barely grasp the concept of?
Sigh no more, dear heart.
I will decipher all of your mysteries, soon enough.
-- Oh, I was a complete mess of thoughts, earlier this year. So much has changed within such a short period of time.
I'm good now. Good wouldn't necessarily be the best word, but it's the first word that comes to mind.
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