How is a dead motivation supposed to return to its place? This is a question I've been asking myself for a long time. Being imprisoned at home wasn't such a good idea. I look at it from every angle. Going out and being in a crowd isn't fun either. You have to endure long hours of whispering, which is overwhelming.
A distant place, there is dark and foggy, perhaps now it's time to discover magic, trees that have been worn out and blue heaven with purple thunderstorms, black shades that disappear .. Where's where?
Nobody really care. And by time running out I understand that nobody will actually love me. I can't do anything about it, I can't do anything about me. I could've right about how I want to feel love, If I'd never took those stupid pills. I want to feel it. Want to feel someone's hands around my neck and waist. But I can't even feel it in my dreams. Maybe one day...