Getting by

I don’t know what I’m looking for exactly. I just know that something’s not right. That something is missing. And that because it’s missing, I just want to stop breathing. Because nowadays, I’ve done more ‘getting by’ than actually living.

And I don’t know what I’m supposed do. When will this ever stop when at every end point of the day, I have the need to write the sadness away. Because there’s just no happy stories to tell.

There’s just not much to tell.

 

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