where we write it

born lonely


This guy next to me wears the same shirt everyday.

This girl  in front of me keeps talking.     I wish I tell her to shut up.  Just shut up.

I wish I get to care about someone in life. It seems to be the greatest feeling.

It sucks that my source of sadness is my future.  I’m fine now, but I don’t know my future.

I think it’s going to be hard.  I’m sick of shouting for help.

It’s not comfortable not knowing what’s there, neither it is if I knew it’s not safe.

I live looking down, taking different paths every second, and regretting what happened few moments ago.   Then worry about the dark end of the tunnel.

Walking a slow, fearful, dark road. sometimes I feel irresponsible for mindlessly going forward.

I’ve been optimistic thinking it would lighten up somehow along the way,  maybe hear a voice to lead me some where.

Sometimes I stop and cry in my spot out of fear.

Then realize it’s cold and I’m alone, so I getup and dry my tears.

Sometimes I feel like giving up and I’ve walked enough years.

We share concerns with friends, but I have none so I write this here.

 I just want a hand to hold,  even with no where to go, even if the end is near.


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