In small squares of sticky paper, we write notes to ourselves, it's a private conversation deemed irrelevant with time and isn't that our existence?
We're so afraid of insanity we drive ourselves insane.
Today it seemed like the whole city was out and I couldn't handle it.
If I ceased to exist for one day I know my life would be entirely different.
Either we desperately try to make our dreams a reality or we give up on them casting them away as fantasy.
I am always in two states, either too determined or not at all. I have never been one to dwindle on the middle ground. I either feel too much or nothing at all and it's too late for me to change.