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Something's not there. It just isn't, still.
At times, in different points of our lives along the way there's just this void for a certain something that we need. In the end they always turn out to be useless after we've had too much. But if we've had too little of it then we turn out all crazy. But after having too much of it we go crazy. So yet again after the void follows insanity in our actions.
And most of the time we just don't know who we are. Through the things we do, through what we want, and through what we fight for, we finally sit down one day, sigh and ask ourselves whether it's really us which we're living out. We turn to the end of every day, tattered, tired past one's eyes but suppressed by of all the things the caffeine, stress and horror.
It's indeed worth the seemingly bloody battle. We can make our way out alive easily but scarred and slashed to our emotional and mental roots. These scars burn. They make us remember the times of these, and they push us further to succeed. And in the end we can possibly triumph and feel great for all our worthiness or whatever.
But I'm going to relive this. For everything that's worth.
Here's part of the picture, so much more to fill.
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