The closest distance to a miserable life is right on the tip of my nose. I find myself constantly dazed and out of this world, I know there is something wrong, I just couldn’t figure out what.
If there’s one thing I want to happen right now, that would definitely have something to do with time. I want everything to go forward, ahead of all these sadness and bitterness, ahead of all these worthlessness. This isn’t me. This is far from who I am—I guess. But in the midst of this constant puzzlement, the only stable fact regarding this life is my own self-inflicted pain.
Maybe I love the pain I inflict myself. Maybe I’m wired that way.
Maybe I less deserve to have the life I wanted, no offense to psychology’s humanistic approach regarding humans being naturally free to create their own destiny. I mean, I’m okay with this life; I’ve been bad and good because I chose to. All I know is that, I am a free person who frequently succumbs herself in this whole ball of sadness, I am absolutely wired to feel this way.
But there’s one thing to be glad about, that in spite of this empty, shallow life, I am standing still looking rather harmless. I clandestinely hate myself for being so forgiving, so infinitely patient and lethargic. Maybe right now is not the right time for a feel-good Friday.
How can you love someone, and not know, what would make them real happy?
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