It has been a month.
I would rather use the word "occupied" than "busy" to describe my current situation. Yes, occupied. but not that satisfied.
The feeling of losing control over what I wanted in life is unbearable. To see the future as bleak, grey and hazy; little light, no hope, great despair. Others see the world in vivid colours, I see it in shades of grey.
As if a winded machinery, I numbly drag life towards its end. Feet by feet, step by step. And fears amplified by repetitions consume the soul, bit by bit, inches by inches.
I do not fear death, I fear the living. I want the suffer of living to cease, but life is not as you please. No matter how hard the armour, it would still be penetrated by a single attack. What is life if so fragile? I had no answer. I seek, but dare not desire. I weep, but stifle it in silence and darkness.
Helplessness. How unlucky, but no sympathy deserved. Humans never cared about humans.
I opened my eyes and saw grey; when I closed my eyes I saw darkness. Nothing really matters me anymore, except for the beating heart. I'm still capable of getting hurt after all.
Crawling at the edge of two cities, I wish to grasp the lights but wish not to blind my eyes; I wish to embrace my fears but wish not to be consumed; I wish to end the woes but wish not to suffer. In the end I found myself in neither cities but the edge, and yet to reach the end.
It was never the end.
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