I feel weak.
In some ways, you could say defeated. I dunno why but the state of being defeated cannot be admitted, yet I cannot rise.
I hate this adult life. Are we adults already?
It's freaking Sunday.
And I hate Sunday.
Because after Sunday comes Monday, and it was funny when Garfield hated it. Now that work makes part of the routine, it ain't funny anymore.
Why am I so weak as to not see the positive sides of this day after day life? Why can't I just quit? How much more fucking money do you need?
I feel empty. I can feel my guts in turmoil, just because. Just because the cycle is reloading. And this is stupid.
I need to help my soldiers but they aren't soldiers. They never were. It's all about people who grew nearby and now are farther. Who are broke as me. We all have different experiences and feelings thoughout this journey, yet we all are broken.
I feel my face disfiguring. I miss you, I miss you so much. I promised I'd be back when the time was right. But will it ever be? Right, righteous... In these fields of adulthood, things like me will starve to death.
I hate but I can't channel it. It won't go anywhere but inside.
I hate that everyone seems to be falling and I cannot bring them up. Heck, I cannot even bring my own head above my neck. They'll find their way eventually, they're adults.
I am stuck.
I love you, and I won't let you go. And if going ahead means going alone, I guess I am digging my grave right here.
They didn't quit, time after time, do neither am I.
