It's weird how I find myself writing again.
Not sure why, it's not like I can think of anything to write.
Even now, I struggle to put my thoughts into words.
As if my mind is so confused there is but a fog left in the place where my creativity welled from for months.
Now a blur. Every few days, everything just blurs. What the fuck am I even doing?
Why did I even start doing this shit? What am I getting out of it?
Whatever I started with, I legitimately have less than before.
Financially, Physically, Emotionally, Metaphysically, terrible decision making on my part.
Everything is running low.
Patience, Virtues, Willpower, Ethics....
What was the purpose?
I still don't know.
Did I wish for a fairy tale story that I knew wouldn't come to fruition? High on the imaginary fiction that I drew? The cheapest fantasy I've ever experienced. The most pure I've been probably since before puberty. Nothing from a physical attraction, but just the mere idea of an emotional connection. Nothing aroused me more than ever before, yet I wanted no release. Effectively just edging on the emotional turbulence of a fictional story.
What a joke.
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